


Shadows

by KiyaSama



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Jon and Dany are not related, Modern AU based in Westeros, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Slow Burn, Slutty and Snarky Jon Snow, Smut, mentions of past rape and incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-04-28 05:14:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 171,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14442123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiyaSama/pseuds/KiyaSama
Summary: Under Cersei Lannister’s wings, Jon Snow has become one of the highest paid male escorts in The Night’s Watch; rival only to her brother, Jaime Lannister. Now able to provide a stable life for himself and his sister, Arya, Jon has the world at his fingertips. However, the tables are turned when he is given a client who refuses to speak or be seen. Who is she? And how is he to break down the walls to fulfill her desires without losing himself?(Check out the two lovely art work in Chapters 8 and 16!)





	1. The Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Well, the gosh darn bunnies attacked and wouldn’t let up. *sigh* I swore I was going to take at least a month off from ‘Storm’, but this idea kept buzzing in my head. Hopefully something like this hasn’t been done before, but if it has…meh! *lol* Here’s my version. 
> 
> 1\. This is completely AU - meaning Jon and Dany will not be related. I think I exhausted the R+L=J premise for ‘Storm’, and I can only use that plot for so long. 2. This is still based in Westeros, but again…modern conveniences abound. Still contemplating if supernatural elements will creep in, but we’ll see. 3. This will hopefully be a relatively short story, and for those who know my writing style by now, I enjoy the slow burn. 4. This was also partly inspired by an episode of ‘Atlanta’, but I promise it won’t be as creepy. Hah.
> 
> P.S: Thanks to all those in the Tumblr verse who showed interest in this! I hope you enjoy the ride (and to the person who laughed at the idea of Dany being in a wheelchair...so what? Women in wheelchairs can be just as sexy and awesome as anyone else). Being 'handicapped' is only a state of mind.

 

* * *

 

 

He was running up the dangerous high road, the uneven trail filled with enough chipped rocks and crevices to leave one concerned for their personal safety. Still, he maintained a steady pace, his hamstrings burning from exertion as he maneuvered between snaky stony paths leading toward the famed Mountains of the Moon. The incline was punishing, but he could feel the core muscles of his abs firming with every pound of his feet on the ground.

_No pain, no gain, right Jon?_

Sweat formed dark stains on the grey stretch top that was molded to his physique like a second skin. And despite his hair pulled away from his face, rivulets of perspiration forced him to blink every now and then or reach for the towel to wipe his face as quickly as he could manage. It was agony, but there was also something quite exhilarating about pushing his body to the limits. It was an adrenaline rush similar to experiencing the world’s greatest orgasm…maybe. He was nearly at his goal, for he could see the castle – The Eyrie – just ahead. If he picked up the pace, he was sure he’d be able to reach it in due –

“Woof!”

Something large, white, and quite fluffy promptly blocked his path, and with an accidental strike of its bushy tail against a button, Jon watched as the treacherous high road faded into black and his personal best numbers were erased in an instant.

“Seven hells, Ghost,” he wailed, while yanking out his earphones in frustration. “Why the fuck did you do that?!”

Ghost – a rare white breed of a malamute with its unique blood-red eyes – barked again and tried to run alongside his master on the machine despite being soaked and leaving wet paw prints in the process. Could one blame him for his love of the odd human machine that made him run in place?

Desperately, Jon tried to recalibrate the numbers, but since he had forgotten to save the settings in his impulsive quest to beat a certain record as early as possible, he cursed beneath his breath as the treadmill gleefully redirected him to the starting point. He hung his head in disbelief. _Great!_ His last forty-five minutes were all for naught. So much for breaking the record of running up to the Eyrie in fifty-five minutes or less. He could almost picture Jamie Lannister’s smug features once the results were posted; for this was actually a fitness challenge for the online class they were both a part of. All scores were logged and shown to members as ‘inspiration’ to get them motivated.

_Fuck!_

“Missed out again, huh?” came the wry commentary from the dark-haired young woman with the cheeky expression on features that were almost similar to his. Her grey eyes flashed with mischievous intent, and when she grinned, she looked less boyish and quite pretty. Dressed in a red raincoat and matching galoshes, she shook out her umbrella in the foyer, causing her older brother to scowl in disapproval at the mess she and his pooch had made.

“You could have at least dried him downstairs, Arya,” Jon protested as he ran the towel through his now loosened dark head full of unruly curls and drank thirstily from his water bottle. “And I’m returning that goddamn treadmill. Screws me up every fucking time.”

“That or you suck at it,” Arya replied with a laugh. She ducked his incoming attempt to ruffle her hair, before dashing into the kitchen with an excited Ghost prancing after her. It was meal time after all; a great reward after being a ‘good boy’ during their evening walk. If her brother noticed she was actually trying to hide her pronounced limp, he kept it to himself.

“You still working tonight?” she bellowed as she rummaged through the pantry to drag out the giant bag of dog food. “It’s still raining pretty hard out there.”

“I have to,” came the muffled reply from the bedroom area. “Important client tonight.”

“Not that old lady you said smells like rotten cabbage,” Arya asked as she made a face.

“I didn’t say she smelled like rotten cabbage,” Jon protested. He stuck his head out of the bedroom, now clad in only a towel around his waist with that disapproving look still in his eyes. “I said she smelled like old age…eh…old…stuff.”

“Close enough,” his sister argued. “All your clients stink anyway.”

He opened his mouth to retort, but as she too poked her head out of the kitchen to stick out her tongue playfully, he couldn’t help the tug of his lips forming a smile as he dived back into the bedroom to get ready.

Kicking the door shut behind him, Jon padded back into the bathroom; its simple black and white themes matching the rest of the décor of the apartment. With the shower running in the background, he wiped away the accumulated steam on the mirror before him and made a face at his reflection. Plain grey eyes stared back with intense scrutiny. Thankfully, his face didn’t look puffy, or he would have been forced to apply an icy gel mask while working out. It was usually worse in the mornings, especially if he had too much to drink the night before, but since he was officially back to work after three days off, he would have to look his extra best tonight.

Humming beneath his breath, he began his meticulous toilette, making sure the right gels and cleansers were used on his ‘money-maker’; a face many of his clientele had said was a gift from the gods.

_Whatever._

As much as he appreciated the compliments about his facial structure, it was his _body_ he was most proud of. So, yes, he was only of average height – or just a little below it - and wasn’t as heavily muscled as some of his co-workers, but he made up for his shortcomings with a toned physique that was the envy of most males in his line of work and made any designer willing to have him in their clothing. He had lost the number of offers he’d received to become a full-time model. Unfortunately, after hearing all the shit stories of the lives those guys had, Jon was more than happy keeping his current jobs.

Besides, if you had told him two years ago that he’d end up becoming one of the highest paid male escorts in all of King’s Landing – if not Westeros – he might have laughed or punched you in the face.

 _You’ve come a long way indeed,_ _Mr. Snow,_ he mused as he stepped beneath the warm sprays of the shower and began to lather himself.

Once upon a time, he had lived from paycheck to paycheck, slumming away at a construction site while living in a cheap motel at Flea Bottom with thoughts of suicide hovering dangerously within his mind almost daily. He had come to King’s Landing in the hopes of achieving the ‘Westerosi Dream’, but after five months of sleeping in a rat-infested hovel, with no running water on most days, no cooling system for the unbearable heat, and barely enough money to get him three solid meals a day, the ‘Westerosi Dream’ was turning out to be a sham.

All that would change with a fateful decision to take a different route home.

It had been a particularly tough day at the job, and with every muscle in his body aching from the punishing hours spent there, he had bypassed the offer from the fellas to join them for their usual after-hours jaunt to the local bar.

“You sure you don’t wanna come with us, Jonno?” Tormund Giantsbane, his supervisor – a giant of a man with the thickest head of red hair and matching beard you’d ever see – asked with a wide grin. It helped that he had such a big heart and cheerful disposition despite their miserable work conditions. “I got plenty of cash to squander on you, my love.”

This earned loud laughter from the rest of the crew, and though Jon would have joined in the banter, he was in no mood.

“Sorry, guys,” he had apologized. “I just…need to clear my head a little.”

The smiles faded as they all nodded in understanding, especially Tormund. “Hey, don’t worry about it,” the big guy said with a meaty arm thrown around Jon’s shoulder before squeezing hard in reassurance. “All these rich folks are dicks anyway. But don’t worry, we free folk will rule over them eventually, you’ll see! Don’t let what he said get you down, all right? I’ll do all I can to keep you on site. You’re one of the hardest workers I know, kid.”

Damn right he was one of the hardest workers out there. He always showed up on time and left long after the final whistle had been blown, and what did he get for all his dedication? A humiliating dress-down by their boss, who had arrived in his fancy limousine, to catch Jon taking a much-deserved nap when it wasn’t technically lunch break. Jon had stood beneath the blistering sun listening to the fat bastard berate him like a child, while the rage building within him threatened to erupt. Just one punch to the fucker’s face was all he would need to appease the fury, and then he’d probably just toss his helmet and walk right out of the place.

_And return to Winterfell empty-handed._

Fortunately, a warning look from Tormund forced Jon to keep his cool. He suffered the embarrassment until the boss stomped off with the threat to fire Jon should he “fuck up one more time.”

Jon spent the rest of the day avoiding all the pitying looks that came his way, though he appreciated the guys who whispered their support, offered him their lunch, or were willing to buy him beers later. They were all great guys; men with families or struggling just like himself. He would do anything for any of them, but tonight, he needed to be alone.

His usual route to Flea Bottom would have taken him only ten minutes. However, he chose to take the Street of the Sisters, which was the doorway to a whole new world within King’s Landing. It was from the junction at the Sisters that the lights glowed brighter, the buildings gleamed with towering steel and glass, and the air was filled with the stench of prosperity and decadence desperately lacking in his current habitat. He remembered walking down streets lined with scantily-clad women (or men) – most from Essos – selling their most delectable wares (their bodies) to willing customers. While Flea Bottom had their share of whores, these were different. They were more sophisticated and likely to have the shiny convertible of a CEO, or a rowdy four-wheeler full of drunk and entitled rich kids, pulling up to solicit their services.

Jon had stared longingly into the elaborate glass displays of expensive clothing, jewelry, and general merchandise stores; imagining himself owning everything within them. He paused at the landscape windows of five-star restaurants and pictured himself eating their seven course meals, while ignoring the looks of disdain that came his way. After all, being dressed in cement stained overalls, a duffer cap, and mud-stained boots did not exactly scream ‘high-class’.

Still festering some resentment at how he had been treated at work, he stared at the flashing neon lights of the famous bar/grill _The Lion’s Roar_ for such a long time, he barely noticed the whispers from those entering or leaving. He had only a few coppers in his pockets, hardly enough to get the cheapest drink in such a place, but with the way he felt right now…he just didn’t give a fuck. He was going to get himself a beer in this stuck-up establishment or die trying.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he was through the glass doors and into a world he could only dream about. _Damn_ , even the air in here smelled rich; fragrant perfumes, fine wine and cigars, delicious mouth-watering foods, with humans who appeared to have stepped right out of the pages of fashion magazines. Envy burned in him like a furnace. He swallowed his trepidation, took off his hat to tuck it into his pocket and braced himself. Luckily, the bar/restaurant was dimly lit, and no one really noticed his attire until he shuffled up to the bar and plonked himself on a stool.

On autopilot, the bartender – good-looking and probably in his late thirties - began to ask for what he’d like, when he finally lifted his head to take note of his new customer.

It would have been comical to see his jaw dropping, if Jon wasn’t currently feeling as if every gaze along the bar was now trained on him. Did he smell bad or something?

“A beer please,” he ordered with a smile. “The most expensive one you’ve got.”

A couple of snickers were heard behind him, but he didn’t turn around. The bartender looked like he was either going to scream for security or reach over the counter to strangle Jon. He settled for rolling his eyes.

“Can you pay for it?” came the condescending query.

Jon shrugged. “Who says I can’t?”

Another bartender, a younger man with amusement in his blue eyes, snorted in derision. “You do know where you are, right?”

“A bar,” Jon agreed amiably despite the tightening of his fist on his lap. He tapped the fingers of his other hand restlessly on the beverage-stained counter. “And as a paying customer, I’d like a beer please.”

“Sure. I’ll give you a beer,” the older bartender replied with a smirk, and Jon watched – with growing embarrassment – as the man reached for a glass, poured less than a fifth of the beverage into it, and then filled it to the top with plain water until it looked the color of foamy piss. “Here you go,” he taunted as he shoved the glass toward Jon. “What _you_ can afford. Now drink up and get the fuck…urgh!”

Jon had tossed the offensive drink into his face and would have reached for something else to hit the guy with when he was ambushed by two other customers from behind. The next thing he knew, fists and punches were flying, there were sounds of shattering glass, and the screams of the female customers ricocheting around him. He couldn’t remember how he ended up on the floor, but as he tried to crawl out of the heap of bodies (apparently some other folks had grudges because random fights had broken out everywhere), he would soon find himself staring at a pair of golden stilettos, with one foot being tapped slowly.

Lifting his gaze, while reluctantly admiring the well-shaped legs, slender hips and waist, a full bosom – all enclosed in a simple yet expensive body hugging red dress – he was confronted with a face that he had seen on a few billboards and magazine covers. He blinked in amazement. It couldn’t possibly be-!

_Cersei fucking Lannister._

The woman who would give him the world, or at least open the doors to a life he never thought he’d want to be a part of.

 

* * *

 

Shower completed, Jon dried himself quickly and observed his reflection again. He rubbed his chin, contemplating if his beard needed a little trimming or not. Deciding on ‘not’ – besides his client for tonight preferred more hair – he ran his fingers through his wet tresses and began the careful task of getting those curls just right. Women seemed to love that part of him for some reason, and he didn’t begrudge them the pleasure of running their fingers through it. Why one client seemed to get off just massaging his scalp. It had been fascinating to watch her masturbate and bring herself to an orgasm with her face pressed against his head. Weird, but shit…she had paid almost two thousand gold dragons for that experience. Who was he to question her fetishes?

He stepped into the bedroom, where his outfit for tonight lay waiting on the king-sized bed. His sister had wondered why he’d need something that large, especially when he brought no woman home to share it with. He had argued that after sleeping for years on small beds, he had earned the right to sleep on the biggest one available. So, sue him.

He continued humming to the song blasting from the sixty-inch flat screen T.V.; the additional surround speakers making the rocker’s booming voice sound like he was right in the room with Jon. He smiled at the memory of getting his first huge paycheck and knowing it was one of the first things he was going to buy.

 _Everything in the world can be yours,_ Cersei had whispered to him that night.

And damn if he wasn’t determined to make that happen.

Getting this apartment - located in the poshest real estate in the city -was the first thing on his list. Thanks to Cersei, and her extensive network, he was able to purchase the already furnished sprawling 5,215 square-foot space, which also included a private loft/studio on the second floor. With five more bedrooms than necessary, seven bathrooms, a state-of-the-art kitchen, a living room large enough to host a gala, and a veranda with a fantastic view of Blackwater Bay, the next step was getting his sister out of the clutches of their batshit crazy Aunt Lysa. That had been an adventure, but again, with Cersei’s connections, the court case had gone as smoothly as possible and Arya was now officially his ward.

To say that the last few years had been traumatizing for her would be an understatement. Having to learn she was the lone survivor of a plane crash that took the lives of her entire family, was not something one got over that quickly. She had spent almost six months in the hospital with a shattered right femur, several broken ribs, and bruises that would probably never completely fade. None of the physicians had held hope for her survival, but Jon had known his sister was nothing short of a warrior. Not only did she pull through, she went through the grueling physical therapy sessions like a champ. Her body might have been broken, but her spirit was indomitable.

As for him, the gods must have warned him against joining them for that trip. His father had been disappointed but understood Jon’s need to remain at Winterfell – “Someone has to take care of things while you all are gone,” Jon had joked, hardly knowing it would be the last time he would see his core family again. Receiving the news of the crash had been a shock to his senses, and everything that happened after that felt like a nightmare occurring to someone else. A huge feeling of guilt settled within his heart and took root. A part of him knew it was silly to carry such a burden. What could he have done anyway? He couldn’t fly a plane, and there was a likelihood he wouldn’t have survived either.

_The gods spared you for a reason, Jon Snow._

And that reason had been his sister; the only person tethering him to Life. Despite their Aunt Lysa’s best intentions in taking care of her, listening to his sister’s misery on the phone every night was more than enough to make his final decision.

He had to get her out of there.

As he slid his arms into the black tailored suit, his heart tugged at the memory of Arya’s extreme joy on the day he broke the news to her. She couldn’t leave The Eyrie fast enough, and with all the money he was making, she could now afford all she ever wanted including the college of her choice. Not surprising, she had wanted to remain close to him, and chose to attend a local community college – Grandview – just off Rosby Road. It was about a thirty-minute ride from here, helped by the red Coupe he had also purchased for her use.

With a light frown of concentration, he debated on wearing the silk designer tie, before deciding to forgo it. He chose to leave the top buttons of the white shirt open, smirking as he dabbed his favorite cologne in all the places his client would love to sniff, lick, or bite…whichever came first.

Secretly, he hoped she _wouldn’t_ want to have sex this time around. Not that he wasn’t willing, after all his job was to leave his clients happy and satisfied, but his headspace wasn’t in ‘the zone’ tonight. He had a lot of things on his mind, and he doubted she’d want to hear about his woes. His job was to _listen to them_ , not vice versa, and if they did ask – especially the older ones, he did his best to brush their curiosities aside. To be the best at this job, one had to remember that personal sacrifice came with the price.

“Whooooohooo! You look good enough to eat, Mr. Jon Snow,” Arya teased from the couch where she was playing a video game with Ghost laying his massive head on her lap. “Rwwrr!”

Ghost joined in by lifting his head and giving a low howl of approval.

“Fuck off,” Jon replied with a blush as he hunted for his wallet and car keys. He found them on the dining table and stuffed them into his pocket. “You good for tonight?” he asked with a light frown of concern. He absently scratched Ghost’s ears and glanced at the screen. “Holy fuck, you’re already on Level 20?! What kind of a monster are you?”

Arya laughed. “The kind who will kick your ass anytime at this.”

She paused the game and turned around to kneel on the couch, watching as he shrugged into his trench coat. “It’s still raining. Take an umbrella.”

“Yes, Mom,” he replied with a roll of his eyes. “Anything else? You sure you’re good?”

“Yes, geez! You’ve asked me that like ten times already. I’m not a baby anymore. This building’s got more security than the Iron Bank for fuck’s sake.”

Jon might have said something else, but she was already shooing him out with a wave of her hands. “Go! Go! We’ll be fine. Just text me when you’re coming home…or not.”

A pang of guilt stabbed his heart.

“Hopefully, she’ll keep it short tonight,” Jon began, but at Arya’s scoff, he felt his features suffuse with color again. Damn her for being too astute for her own good. She understood the things he had to do to keep up with their lifestyle and never judged him harshly for it - something he was more than grateful for. After all, he cherished her opinions above all others.

“Just try to have fun,” she said with a smile that could be considered sad if one squinted hard enough. “And be safe.”

He gave her a mock salute in farewell and let himself out of the apartment.

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t until he was in his convertible did he wish he had at least grabbed a sandwich or something. His stomach was already growling in protest, and as he pulled out of the estate, he set his GPS and mentally began to prepare for the night ahead. To be honest, his preparation would have started from the moment he learned of his next client. Fortunately, this was a repeat customer, so there would be no need for phone calls to get to know each other a little better, study notes on her likes and dislikes, get to decide what activities could be planned and so on and so forth.

Since he started this business, he had come to learn that most women – at least sixty percent of his clientele – were not really in it for the sex. He was uncomfortable with the term ‘male prostitute’, for he tried to explain to those who queried that most of his clients simply wanted a _companion_. They longed for all the attention denied to them by their husbands, boyfriends, or the real world. For an hour or two, or an entire weekend, they wanted to live out their fantasies, and if it involved having a romp in the sack, then so be it.

His initial encounters had been awkward and embarrassing, and he had left those meetings with the feeling that he was going to be terrible at this. Despite the classes he was made to attend, the videos he had to watch, and even shadowing a few veterans, he still felt he wasn’t cut out for this lifestyle. And just when he was prepared to call it quits, his luck would change with his first callback. What he had considered shy and uncomfortable had only warmed that client’s heart. She had considered him ‘cute’ and ‘adorable’, and short of wanting to adopt him as an extra kitten (for she had five cats running around the place), she was content to let him take her for evening walks and read the papers to her afterwards. He had made over a thousand gold dragons for that gig alone.

His first sexual encounter (on the job) was with a stunning middle-aged businesswoman from Tyrosh. She was straight to the point and had no need for frivolous niceties. Jon still had no idea why Cersei had offered this one to him, but from the moment he walked into the penthouse, she was on him like a tiger on its prey. She made him go down on her, and despite his worry that he would leave her unsatisfied, hearing her scream his name as she convulsed repeatedly above him, was enough to show he was doing _something_ right. She was so pleased with his tongue skills, she had dubbed it ‘The Lord’s Kiss’ (probably because she kept screaming ‘oh my Lord!’ through it all), but that moniker and reputation would follow him from then on.

Via word of mouth, his clientele grew, his ranking rose, and before long, he was amongst the top five escorts in Cersei’s very lucrative venture: _The Night’s Watch_. His goal was to eventually become number one, but as long as Jaime Lannister still lived and breathed, that golden-haired bastard was destined to remain in that position until he –

“Talk to me,” he clipped as he punched the button on the dashboard to answer the dull buzz of his cell phone.

“Where are you?”

Jon raised a brow at the familiar autocratic tone. “On my way to the client, Tyrion. What is it?”

“There’s been a slight change of plans,” came the words that almost always filled Jon with dread. Fuck no. Not now! She was backing out? Changed her mind? Keeled over with a heart attack or something? Why would she want to cancel now?

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Tyrion, who was Cersei’s youngest brother - easily the one in the family who got all the scraps of whatever beauty Cersei and Jaime had absorbed in their mother’s womb - was the brains behind the operation. He did the grunt work, so to speak, and was responsible for keeping up with the ‘boys’ every night. Not an easy task when one thinks about it. This was an international establishment with over a thousand employees and thousands more in clientele.

“Not kidding you,” Tyrion replied with clear weariness. Jon wondered if the dwarf ever got any sleep. “Your client has been assigned to someone else. We have a new one that specifically requested for you.”

“Really? I’m supposed to turn this fucking car around and go read up on her _now_?”

“No need,” Tyrion answered causing Jon’s brows to really rise in surprise. “You will be seeing her tonight, and all your questions and concerns will be answered there. Her words. Not mine.”

Jon might have burst into a torrent of insults, but he settled for gripping the steering wheel tighter and pulling into a gas station to gather himself.

Through clenched teeth, he asked with barely suppressed sarcasm. “Let me guess. She paid you a shit ton of money and made you an offer you couldn’t refuse.”

“Let’s put it this way,” came the wry remark. “With the money she’s willing to pay you, you should be driving even faster to her mansion.”

He mentioned the fee for just tonight’s appearance, and Jon almost had a heart attack.

“You are shitting me,” he gasped. He could pay off his apartment’s rent for the next three months with that kind of money! Who the hell was this?! A Great House Lord’s wife or daughter? A princess or member of any royalty from beyond the Narrow Sea?

_And dear gods, let her be sexy as hell!_

“Told you you’d be interested,” Tyrion said with a chuckle.

“And she specifically asked for me?”

“Well…not exactly.”

“What?”

“Jaime’s in Pentos right now, Loras in Braavos, Renly at Highgarden-”

Jon rolled his eyes. “Ah, I get it. All the other top guys are not available, so let’s go to me. Thanks. I feel really special.”

“As you should. This was supposed to be Jaime’s client…”

There was a pause that had Jon frowning. “So, she definitely knows its _me_ coming and not Jaime?”

“…uh, yes.”

“Tyrion…”

“Do you want the job or not? I’m losing my patience, Jon.”

_Fuck it._

“Fine,” he growled and shook his head. “Just give me the address.”

“And you’re welcome,” Tyrion stated with a sneer in his voice.

Luckily, he would miss seeing the middle finger Jon raised in response to this.

 

 

* * *

 

By the time he arrived at 45 King’s Gate Road the rain was, mercifully, now a light drizzle.  He had never been to this side of town before, but from all he had heard about it, seeing the old mansions hidden behind trees as big as the houses themselves, gave one the illusion they had stepped back in time.

He wove his car down quiet paved streets with old-fashioned street lamps illuminating the way. He would have passed right by the home, for its gate and mailbox was so overgrown with elephant grass and vines, he had to do a doubletake to be sure he had the right address.

_This is a joke, right? Tyrion’s fucking with me, isn’t he?_

He had watched and read enough horror movies to know that houses like these almost always never had good things within them. He drove up to the tall wrought iron gates and squinted to see past the flickering raindrops and wet dead leaves flying onto his windshield. He could see lights from the home, despite the abundance of trees and more creeping vines enclosing the building like leeches, but there was an eerie quiet that was disturbing.

Deciding it wasn’t worth the risk – no matter how much he was bound to lose – he prepared to turn his car around when the sudden loud static noise almost had him jumping in surprise.

_The fuck?!_

He hadn’t even noticed the gate intercom, and with his heart still pounding like a drummer on acid, he lowered his window and winced as the drizzle settled on his face.

“Uh…hello?” he asked warily. He was greeted with silence. Was it his imagination or had the machine not beeped in the first place?

_I’m losing my fucking mind already._

“Hello?” he called out again a little louder. “This is the…eh…companion you requested for the evening? Anyone home?”

His response was the loud grind of the gate slowly being opened, and if Jon hadn’t felt the first claws of fear creeping down his spine before, he could definitely feel them now.  His bladder suddenly felt too tight, and every warning bell in the world was ringing within his mind. All he had to do was say ‘sorry, ma’am’ and bolt. He would explain to Tyrion, probably incur Cersei’s wrath, get a poor rating and lose his top five ranking for a while. Anything was better than dealing with this.

Yet, he found himself pulling up to the driveway, where he bypassed a water fountain that must have last been used during Aegon’s Conquest (probably). The statue of a maiden holding a jar was neither maidenly-looking, and she might have been holding a stick for all that remained of the jar. The fountain itself was full of dead plants, and as Jon stepped out of the car and turned up the collar of his trench coat, he took one brief look at his surroundings and wondered when last this place had seen a gardener. Did this client just move in today? Why would this place still look like such a dump?

The house itself was beautiful, if you ignored all the vines. It had the traditional look of Old Valyria, but with a Westerosi flavor due to its solid brick exterior and narrow windows. The walls did need a new coat of paint, and as Jon jogged up the short flight of steps to the front door, he knew his client was definitely not going to be any younger than fifty.

 _Poor lady is probably stuck in mourning over the loss of her husband and children or something,_ he mused as he pressed the doorbell. This was a good thing. His secret wish to have a ‘quiet’ night might come true after all.

If he lived that is.

After five minutes of silence (though he imagined he heard a faint barking from somewhere), he pressed the doorbell again, and just when he was prepared to knock impatiently, the door swung open…on its own.

_Arya? Perhaps I should have said a real proper goodbye before leaving you. Shit, I’m gonna die in this place._

“He…Hello?” he called out, with his heart somewhere in his throat.

He took a step into the elegant foyer with a large wooden oval table upon which sat an exquisite Asshai-inspired vase with fresh exotic flowers. _Fresh!_ So, all wasn’t dead around here after all. However, he was struck by something else that had him expelling a breath of air. The weather outside was relatively cool, and he could understand why one would want the heater turned on, but this… _this_ was ridiculous! It was a goddamn _sauna_ in here. He was surprised none of the furniture was already melting and he found himself shrugging out of his coat. He hung it on an antique coat-rack, and winced at the damp patches of sweat already felt beneath his armpits.

_Definitely an older lady…somewhere in her sixties or older._

And there was a smell here – a musty, old smell simmering beneath a layer of lemon and spices of some kind. At least the interior looked clean, not too dusty…so perhaps they were just starting the renovation process.

“Anyone home?” he asked as he stepped further into the foyer, and almost jumped out of his skin as the door closed behind him.

 _Nowhere to run now,_ he thought as his hands formed fists in the pockets of his jacket. His eyes danced around the room for any close weapon. If he was confronted with either a crazy old lady, or some sicko…

_What the-?_

He heard the low growl before he sensed the movement behind him. Spinning around quickly, he braced for an attack, when he found himself staring into the deep brown eyes of a beautiful malamute – like his Ghost – but with a rich coat of black and chestnut fur. The dog padded toward him, with obvious curiosity, and Jon was glad to see its sharp canines were not bared in hostility.

Unable to resist smiling, he stooped to his haunches and held out his hand in a gesture of openness. Ghost usually liked people who did that to him, but there was no guarantee this one would do the same. However, when the cold sensation of the malamute’s nuzzle was felt against his palm, Jon grinned and reached up to scratch behind his ears.

“You’re a beauty, aren’t you?” he crooned in delight as the creature’s tongue flickered out in enjoyment at the attention. “Now where’s your mistress, huh? You hiding her somewh-?”

The words died on his lips as another sound reached his ears. This time it was the low humming sound of a motorized wheelchair heading toward him.

Jon rose to his feet and watched in dumbfounded silence as it made its way out of the shadows. It came to a stop a few feet away, and despite the weak light coming from one of the rooms across the hall, there was no mistaking the clothed figure studying him from behind dark glasses.

And by clothed, she was _completely_ _covered_ from head to foot. A black scarf, which only revealed tufts of white hair, the oversized glasses, a surgical mask to cover her nose and mouth, a rather beautiful Dornish-inspired shawl over hunched shoulders, a black turtleneck sweater, blue polka-dotted gloves, a Myrish woven blanket to cover her lower half, and sensible matronly black shoes. There was not an inch of skin exposed, and in this heat, it didn’t even appear as if she was sweating. The dog padded toward her and sat at her side obediently, not before she scratched his ears just as he had.

It wasn’t until she picked up something from her lap, did he notice that it was a mini-chalkboard and she was now scribbling quite fast on it.

He wondered if he should take this opportunity to introduce himself, but before he could he say a word, she held up the board, and he was forced to read her words.

YOU ARE NOT J. LANNISTER.

 _No, shit,_ he thought bitterly, but he still forced a smile on his face. “No, I am not.” _Goddamn you, Tyrion!_

“But I can still provide the same services he would have given you, if not better.” He hated to brag like this, but he had to put her mind at ease. Hopefully, she wouldn’t kick him out just because he wasn’t her initial pick.

She studied him for a moment longer, lowered the board, wiped it clean with a duster kept at the side of her chair, and began writing again.

AREN’T YOU JON SNOW?

_Oh, she knows me. Well, of course…if she browsed through the website, our pictures are all there._

“Yes, that’s me,” he replied; hoping his smile was still intact.

She was writing again. YOU LOOK DIFFERENT FROM YOUR PICTURE ON THE SITE.

_Tyrion needs to fucking update that shit._

“I was a year younger,” he admitted with a sheepish smile. “Forgive me, but we all grow up.”

She was shaking her head and wiping the board again, and Jon could feel the tiny sliver of hope dashing away. She _was_ going to kick him out. She wanted her precious Jaime Lannister, and if she didn’t get him –

CAN YOU COOK?

_Huh?_

He must have had a stupid expression on his face, because her mouth beneath the mask appeared to smile or maybe she was grimacing.

“Uh…yeah? I can…?” he replied warily. _What the fuck is she getting at?_

GOOD. BECAUSE I’M HUNGRY.

_Ah._

Erase. Scribble. Write. I NEED DINNER.

“Oh, well perhaps we should order something…”

She was already shaking her head before he finished, and this time she wrote a lot more on her board.

I HAVE A GROCERY LIST & MONEY ON THE COUNTER IN THE D. ROOM. PLS GO TO THE STORE AND PURCHASE THE ITEMS.

His mouth fell open in disbelief, and he had to rub a hand across his forehead…which came away with a light sheen of sweat. Whether it was from the heat, or the stress this lady was already putting him through, it was hard to discern at this point.

“I’m sorry,” he began as he took a deep breath and looked around. The house was awfully quiet except for some music coming from the living room she had appeared from. And was it his imagination or were there two more malamutes lounging in there? “Don’t you have a butler or maid or someone to do that for you? I mean…this really isn’t in my job descript-”

JAIME WOULD HAVE DONE IT.

_This bitch! Okay, Jon Snow. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. You’ve had worse requests than this. Just suck it up and think of how much she’s paying you. If she wants you to go buy her some food, then fucking do it with a big shit-eating grin on your face!_

“Not a problem,” he said aloud and made his way to the dining room to retrieve said list. However, as he stared at it, he could feel his blood pressure rising. He had dealt with some picky clients before, but this was really pushing it.

“Uum…do I really have to get all these from the Wholesome Foods store?” he began with a light cough. “It’s almost at the other end of town, and there’s a store right around the corner where-”

I WANT THEM FROM THAT STORE.

_Son-of-a-bitch!_

“And so, you shall,” he said in his most charming voice. She might have sneered, it was really had to make out her non-existent facial expressions in the dark – and why the fuck was it so dark anyway? But he would make Mrs. Jaime-Would-Have-Done-it happy, and hope to the gods, he didn’t fuck up a great opportunity. He was already having dreams of finally purchasing a yacht and sailing to the Summer Islands sometime next year.

He prepared to leave, reaching for the trench coat he had hung up earlier. If he had expected her to scribble a THANK YOU, he received nothing as he glanced over his shoulder. If anything, she and her silent companion, remained studying him; those gloved hands prim and proper on her lap, with a masked face that revealed nothing at all.

_Who the hell are you? And why can’t you speak?_

“Guess I’ll have to know all of your secrets eventually, my dear,” he muttered once he was outside to a cool night he welcomed with gratitude.

However, as he turned on the ignition and prepared to drive off, he would notice her lonely silhouette (and yes! _three_ fucking malamutes) against the living room window. Try as hard as he could to continue feeling animosity at her attitude, his heart stirred with compassion and understanding. How many times had he seen this before?

 _Fuck me,_ he groaned in resignation.

She might be bitchy and eccentric, but he still had a job to do. Having four-legged companions was great, but nothing was better than having real _human_ contact. And by the time the night was through, Jon Snow was determined to make her forget Jaime Lannister even existed.

 

 

 

 

 


	2. The Client

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, color me gobsmacked at the feedback/support/encouragement so far. I am one giddy female. So, thank YOU so very much, everyone! *bows gratefully*  
> Enjoy! :D
> 
> The Bear and the Fair Maiden lyrics - © George R.R. Martin (all rights reserved)

* * *

Talk about specific.

>  One 4lb chicken – not frozen - organic – no artificial flavorings and w/o antibiotics. Uncut.

_Seven hells._

He lowered the list and glowered at the vast array of fresh chicken staring innocently back at him. Was he really expected to read _every_ single label just to find the right one? He could be here all night! He clutched the handle of the shopping cart in a death grip, knowing he had been receiving odd glances from the other shoppers since he walked in. There were the lingering or longing glances, especially from the females (though he had navigated his way around a blatantly ogling gay couple), and others just generally confused as to why a well-dressed man would be caught shopping at a Wholesome Foods store at this hour. He looked like he should be sitting at the most expensive table at The Mirage with a gorgeous blond sitting across him. A plan, thanks to Tyrion, that was now thwarted.

_What if I just pick any kind? It’s not as if she’s going to inspect them, is she?_

Yet recalling that frenzied writing and those large letters glaring at him in silent accusation, had him cursing beneath his breath and squinting at the various options to find the exact one she needed.

 _Jaime would have done it,_ continued to taunt him as he stood in the condiment aisle ten minutes later, searching for the elusive: _spicy seasoning blend from Tyrosh in a 2 oz bottle._ For the love of the gods, there were about twenty other perfectly good seasoning blends from all over the world, and she just _had_ to have the one from Tyrosh? He pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the early stirrings of a headache coming on.

This evening was becoming a nightmare.

It had taken him nearly forty minutes to get here, no thanks to the traffic along the Street of Steel and some festivity going on at the Great Sept of Baelor. To make matters worse, when he finally arrived at his destination, there was no parking space available. It seemed as if every pretentious asshole decided to shop for their ‘organic/eco-friendly/recycled’ foods in this place, and though he liked to eat healthy, what was the difference in getting the same darn ingredients – for a much cheaper price – at the fish market?

 _That’s it,_ he decided as his lashes flew open. _I’m buying whatever the fuck I want and to hell with Jaime La –_

“Ahem, excuse me, sir?”

He turned to the smiling petite brunette wearing the store’s blue apron with a tag pinned to her chest identifying her as ‘Joanna’. What was she so chirpy about?

“I couldn’t help noticing you scowling at our items,” she said with a high-pitched giggle. “Perhaps I can help you with your list?”

_Oh, dear gods, thank YOU!_

“Here,” he said with a grin that caused her to blush a lovely shade of pink. “You are more than welcome to it. I’ve only managed to find two items and I’ve been here…” He glanced at his watch and winced. Almost _half-an-hour_? The night was almost over before it had begun.

“Not a problem,” Joanna was saying. He watched in amazement as she scanned the shelves and in a second was able to find what he had spent the past ten minutes hunting for. “Great choice,” she added and trotted off to the next aisle. “You have good taste…or whoever wrote this does.”

_Whoever wrote that is an eccentric recluse with three ginormous dogs living in a mysterious house all by herself. Oh, and guess what? I’m not only her servant, I’m going to be her cook. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if I ended up being her maid too. Go figure._

Oddly enough, it wasn’t the first time he’d cooked for any of his clients, but those situations had been different. For starters, he didn’t have to go grocery shopping for them, as the ingredients were already available, and second, it was almost always done the morning after. Nothing beat seeing the smile of a woman receiving breakfast in bed, for there was a high probability that the sex - or kisses - after that was almost always fantastic.

“Aaaaand we’re done. I hope you come back and see us again,” Joanna said with that megawatt smile which made him wonder if she was perpetually high on caffeine. Nobody was legally allowed to be that happy. Thanking her for her kindness, he paid quickly at the checkout, wincing inwardly at just how much everything cost (for old habits of being frugal still haunted him), and made a dash for his car with the two recyclable bags tucked under his arms.

The rain had started again in earnest by the time he arrived at the mansion, and it took all of his professional skills to maintain his smile as the door opened for him (he would later come to learn she operated the remote switch from her wheelchair), and he was now greeted by the three dogs who all sniffed around him eagerly.

“Whoa, fellas,” he said with a laugh as the biggest – the one that greeted him when he first arrived – tried to burrow his large face into a bag. “Slow down.”

Funny how dogs almost always made him feel better. In just an instant, all his feelings of resentment and frustration were wiped away as the other two dogs - one had an off-white color with hints of light brown, and the last with brown fur that almost looked golden in a certain light – ran around him in circles before leading the way toward what Jon assumed was the kitchen.

His elusive client was nowhere in sight.

Sure enough, the dogs did take him to the right place, and Jon found himself standing in the middle of a large kitchen complete with an island where one could wash dishes or eat comfortably. Despite the antique décor with its deep walnut paneling, moldings, and furnishings, it still had a decent gas cooker and working fridge/freezer (a quick inspection showed she would need to do even more shopping). It was hardly the modernized cooking equipment in his apartment, but as long as he could turn on the burner – without setting himself on fire – he should manage. Besides, it reminded him of the ancient gas cooker in his first apartment. That thing had nearly choked him to death with its puffs of smoke.

He set the bags on the counter and began to peel out of his soaked trench coat, smiling as the dogs all sat quietly on their haunches to watch him.

“Guess your mom taught you not to bother her when cooking, huh? Or are you fellas just wanting to eat something?”

The biggest barked in response and seemed to nod toward the back door, where three large ceramic bowls sat waiting to be refilled. Jon raised a brow as he noticed the names written on them: DROGON (red), RHAEGAL (green), VISERION (cream). 

“So those are your names, eh?” he mused aloud. “Nice. Now who’s Drogon?”

The biggest malamute barked in response. _Not a surprise there,_ Jon figured. “And who is Rhaegal?”

The off-white dog barked and sat back on his hind legs; panting in excitement.

“And you,” Jon said as he scratched the smallest of the three’s ears. “Would be Viserion. Nice. Well, I’m Jon Snow, and I’ll be helping you guys tonight. Sooooo….” He glanced around the kitchen. “Where would all the food for three huge dogs be kept? Hmm?”

Drogon must have understood his query, for he got up to lead the way again toward a narrow door tucked between a flight of steps going up to the gods knows where, and a much larger door leading to a near-barren pantry. Jon opened the door where an array of dog foods, canned, bagged and otherwise, sat unopened. He whistled beneath his breath at just how much there was, but he could understand the need for it. If his pooch, Ghost, could eat him out of house and home, what more having to feed three of his kind? His client must spend a small fortune on their feeding alone.

“I don’t know how your mother does it without help,” he grunted as he dragged one of the bags out and opened it with a knife. He fully expected the dogs to dance around him like Ghost did sometimes, but as before, they were all patient; watching as the human prepared their meals. He might have considered it disconcerting to be studied so intensely, but he was still marveling at their intelligence to care much.

Once he was done filling their food and watering bowls, he watched in admiration as each walked to their designated dish and began eating without making a fuss. Talk about well-disciplined dogs. Not that it should have been surprising. Most malamutes were like that. It was one of the reasons he had fallen in love with Ghost when he first arrived at King’s Landing. He was still a pup at the time and belonged to the Old Bear – Mr. Jeor Mormont – who had lived on the topmost floor of his apartment building. A Northerner like himself, the Bear had relocated to the South for health purposes, though it was clear he missed his home and family still on Bear Island. He and Jon had established a quasi-father-son relationship, and when Mr. Mormont finally passed away, Jon was pleasantly surprised to learn Ghost had been left in his care.

“And now to find your mother,” he began as he took off his jacket and tugged restlessly on his damp shirt. If he could take that off too, he would, since it was still so hot in here. Unfortunately, he doubted cooking shirtless would earn him any bonus points at this stage of their relationship.

He was on his way out to begin the search when he finally noticed the piece of paper stuck behind the kitchen door. How had he missed that in the first place?

In that neat cursive calligraphy, that spoke of an obvious aristocratic upbringing, his client had written more instructions to be carried out.

 

 

>   1. Dinner for tonight will be roasted chicken with herbs. Dessert – a scoop of mango gelato.
>   2. There is a recipe book on the counter behind you. The page is bookmarked for your convenience.
>   3. Garnish chicken with the following vegetables: potatoes, carrots, and peas. No salt. Not overcooked.
>   4. I will have the chicken breast and a total of 8oz of the vegetables – digital scale on counter
>   5. When finished, you will find plates, cutlery, and a tray already prepared in the dining room.
>   6. You will find bottles of purified water in the fridge. I will need two.
>   7. Leave food in dining room and ring the bell beside the tray to alert me.
>   8. You are welcome to eat as well, but you must eat in the kitchen.
>   9. Do not enter the dining room until you hear the bell ringing again.
>   10. Make sure kitchen is kept tidy with all utilities put in their proper place.
>   11. Leftovers should be put in containers and kept in freezer.
> 


 

“Yes, Your Grace,” he whispered beneath his breath, while resisting the urge to roll his eyes. He couldn’t shake off the nagging feeling that she was watching his every move. After all, if she was aware of his arrival, and had opened the front door without waiting for his knock, there was no doubt she had hidden cameras around the home. Creepy, but a necessary evil, considering her circumstances.

“All righty, boys,” he said aloud as Drogon finished first and now lay on his stomach to watch him. Jon was able to find a clean brown checkered apron, hanging behind the pantry door, and donned it. He rolled up his sleeves, tied back his hair away from his face, and with a playful wink to his silent companions, he began unpacking the groceries. “Let’s make your momma happy, shall we?”

 

* * *

 

Humming beneath his breath, he put the finishing touch to his presentation; a single purple chrysanthemum in a narrow crystal vase – a personal purchase from the store. If there was one thing he had learned in this business, it was knowing the subtle ways to please a woman (and not just during bedroom activities). It involved being observant and picking up on the unspoken signals she would give. Little attentive gestures like that drove them wild with desire or increased affection for you. Guaranteed.

For Ms. Recluse, Jon was able to tell she liked flowers, obvious with the magnificent bouquets in the foyer and dining room. So yes, his lone stalk paled in comparison to the exotic selection she already had, but he hoped the symbolism of this particular flower would resonate with her. It wasn’t a declaration of love, or any such frivolity, but a sign that he was simply seeking to establish a relationship that could be built on trust.

He stood back to study the table setting with a critical eye. Her plate – a piece of one of the finest (and most expensive) chinaware in the world - was set with the portions she requested. Her cutleries – thankfully not many since she was only having two courses – were arranged in order. Since she would not want him interrupting her meal to bring dessert, he had the gelato sitting in a silver bowl of ice. It was all in the detail, for lessons at _The Night’s Watch_ had included the fine art of dining; knowing your dinnerware, table settings, wine glasses, alcoholic beverages, even what kinds of _water_ , made for an excellent dining experience. It wasn’t just enough to walk into any restaurant and order from the menu, one had to know the tricks of the trade.

 _Eating – something you do every day without thinking – becomes a sensual and erotic experience with your client. Foreplay begins from the moment you pick up a spoon, and your presentation is everything. You will be dining with wealthy and powerful women from all over the world,_ Cersei had warned. _So, do not take these lessons lightly, my darlings. Your every move is studied and judged. Never forget._

She hadn’t been kidding about that. There were some clients who barely got through the first course before wanting to rip his clothes off. Doubting Ms. Recluse had any intention of getting hot and sweaty on the dining table, he adjusted the bottles of water on the left side of plate. He had debated on leaving a glass cup, but since she did not specify, he didn’t bother with it.

“I think we’re done here,” he said as he reached for the bell and took a deep shuddering breath. This was actually a nerve-wracking experience. Though he eventually got lost in the cooking process, he was still anxious about her reaction to the finished product. What if she hated it? He had followed the recipe to a tee, well, he might have added one or two extra things to spice things up, but otherwise, he sincerely hoped she approved of his efforts.

Not that he would consider himself an expert, but so far, none of the women he’d cooked for – Arya included – had complained about his culinary skills. Besides, he hated to admit that her choice of spices made the food taste ten times better. He had, reluctantly, memorized their names and planned on adding them to his collection at home.

He rang the bell, took one last look at the rather lonesome setting on a table large enough to sit twenty, before slipping back into the kitchen. He shut the door behind him and all but slumped against it with his eyes closed in worried anticipation. The dogs, who must have eventually gotten bored with him, had left earlier to find their mother. Hence, aside from the low humming from the electrical appliances, he was able to clearly hear what was happening out there. He held his breath and listened to the familiar squeak of her wheelchair. He could hear the dogs as well, and it made him wonder how she was able to communicate with them if she relied so much on the chalkboard. He doubted they could read her words, but deaf and dumb people had pets too, so perhaps there was a way to ‘talk’ to them without having to move her lips.

_Well, duh, Jon Snow. If she can’t move her lips, how the fuck is she going to eat? Through a straw?_

He lifted his lashes and cursed himself for being too concerned over trivial matters. He might as well eat something and consider the next steps for the rest of the evening. Earlier, he had explored the pantry, which was in a deplorable state. For starters, it needed a proper cleaning; hosed-down, disinfected, the whole works. He had spied forgotten canned goods on the top shelves and bringing one down had revealed that they were over twenty-years old. _Yikes._ There were cobwebs aplenty, along with several shriveled garlic or white onions hanging along the wall. Tucked away in a dank corner, was a large sack of stale beans, though from the pungent smell and gaping hole in it, a dead rat or two, might have snuck their way in and never managed to get out. He did find a gem hidden beneath a shelf; a dusty and cobweb-filled box of vintage red wine from the lovely region of Dorne.

And these weren’t the cheap ones either.

Helping himself to one – after all she hadn’t said they were off limits, and he doubted she even knew they existed – he sat on a kitchen stool and filled his glass with the rich aromatic beverage.

 _To the pleasures of women,_ he toasted with a wry smile, _especially to women who like making lists, own huge dogs, and don’t like human company much._

He was on his third glass - his food barely touched - when he heard the light tinkering of the bell. Hating his immediate reaction of jumping to his feet like a goddamn servant, he waited for at least five minutes before letting himself into the dining room again.

Unsure of what to expect, he was pleasantly surprised to find that one, the flower was gone, and two, the plate was just about cleaned up. Poking out, from beneath the plate, was a note with the words…

_You are a good cook._

…written on it, and for some inexplicable reason, his heart soared in triumph at the praise. He couldn’t help the smile coming to his visage, and he tucked the note into his pocket as if it were a good luck charm of some sort. She liked _his_ cooking! It was ridiculous to feel giddy about something that trivial but considering the state of nervous tension he had been trapped in all evening, she had helped ease the burden tremendously. Cleaning up afterwards was a breeze, and as he wiped his hands on a rag, he would just catch the note being shoved beneath the kitchen door.

He picked it up and read quickly:

 

 

> _You are welcome to leave._
> 
> _I will have no further use for you this evening._
> 
> _I had hoped to listen to some live entertainment, which was why I wanted J. Lannister, but your profile does not state you are able to do so._

 

Tyrion _really_ did have to update his page and fast.

“Well actually,” he began as he jogged out to the foyer and caught her heading toward a set of art deco inspired doors that chimed open to reveal the artfully hidden elevator. “I am not too shabby on the piano.”

She, and her dogs, stared at him as if he were an alien. He would realize he was still wearing his apron and taking it off quickly – as if that was the reason for them gawking – he struggled to control his blush. Who was he kidding? His skills were never going to be as good as Jaime’s, and he had barely managed to get through the music lessons. They had to be proficient in at least one instrument, for there was the possibility of their clients needing such entertainment. Lucky for Jon, so far, none of his clients had requested he perform, but all those grueling lessons were about to get their first major test. Let’s hope he didn’t fuck things up.

“Shall we?” he asked as he bowed politely and waited for her permission to lead the way.

Her body language appeared uncertain. She would share a look with her pets, where some silent communication went on between them for the dogs loped back into the living room with her finally wheeling herself after them grudgingly.

Since the room was barely lit, and he feared tripping over something and breaking a leg, Jon attempted to find the main switch to make it brighter. Big mistake. The sudden brightness seemed to have the woman shrinking within her chair with a barely audible gasp of shock escaping her covered mouth. She was lowering her head and waving her hands frantically in a ‘no’ fashion, and Jon – getting the message – switched it off quickly.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” he began apologizing profusely. The added confusion of the dogs barking and running around in circles did not help, and he was alarmed to find his heart was pounding fast as he knelt beside the wheelchair. Touching her now would be a catastrophe, but if he kept his voice even, he hoped to convey his sincere remorse.

“I had no idea,” he continued; watching in concern as her trembling hands reached for her chalkboard and began to write.

NO BRIGHT LIGHTS. ONLY LAMP NEXT TO PIANO.

“Right. Got it,” Jon agreed as he rose to his feet and did as told.

It was a soothing hue that created an intimate setting, and Jon could understand why she would want this compared to the harshness of the chandeliers. Watching to see if she was okay, he was slightly relieved to see the shakes had stopped, probably because she was now being comforted by Drogon, who had placed his large head on her lap and was watching his mother with such love and concern, Jon felt like a useless third wheel.

_Great. Am I already feeling jealous of a fucking dog?_

Shaking his head at the flow of his thoughts, he settled at the grand piano – a black beauty that had clearly been played before. He took a deep breath and flexed his fingers, before lifting the cover…only to stare in growing panic at the black and white keys before him. What happens if she wanted a specific song played? Could he really remember how to play anything? He sucked at reading music and would only do so if absolutely forced to. However, a sudden loud tapping, had him turning around again.

She held up her board. PLAY WHAT YOU KNOW.

His relief must have been so evident, he imagined the slight tugging motion beneath the mask was her smiling.

Holding on to that fantasy, he turned back to the piano and tested its tuning with a few notes.

_Hmm…not bad._

_Someone_ had had it tuned, and for a moment, he wondered if the woman behind him played it as well. Rhaegal and Viserion flanked his sides and sat on their haunches to listen, while Drogon remained lying at her feet, and as Jon closed his eyes and conjured up the memory banks, he decided to play one of the few songs he actually enjoyed. It was a traditional Westerosi staple – _The Bear and the Maiden Fair_ – and though he had only intended to play the familiar jaunty jig, he soon found himself belting out the humorous chorus:

 

_I called for a knight, but you're a bear!_

_A bear, a bear!_

_All black and brown and covered with hair_

_She kicked and wailed, the maid so fair,_

_But he licked the honey from her hair._

_Her hair! Her hair!_

_He licked the honey from her hair!_

_Then she sighed and squealed and kicked the air!_

_My bear! She sang. My bear so fair!_

_And off they went, from here to there,_

_The bear, the bear, and the maiden fair_

 

Getting into the spirit of things, Rhaegal and Viserion howled in unison at the end of his drawn-out conclusion, causing Jon to laugh at the sound. Ghost was prone to doing that and –

_Oh._

The muffled clapping (thanks to her gloves) behind him caused his features to suffuse with color. His client was apparently pleased with his performance, and she wrote as much on her board.

NOT BAD. SOME SQUEAKY NOTES.

…she added some more…

NICE VOICE.

 _Now_ he was definitely blushing, and he bowed in appreciation at the compliment. Thoughts of her being a completely bossy oddity was slowly being erased.

PLAY ANOTHER ONE, she demanded.

He was all too happy to oblige. “No problem.”

He performed _Wolf in the Night_ , _The Winter Maid_ , and _Fair Maids of Summer_ – which she might have hummed beneath her breath, or he was probably just imagining things. The dogs did chime in once in a while, and by the time they were through with their performance, all parties involved were beginning to feel the effects of the long day. Viserion was almost half-asleep when their mother made a tapping sound on her chalkboard that caused the trio to trot toward the front door in unison. At Jon’s raised brow, she scribbled on the board.

POTTY BREAK. THEN WE GO TO SLEEP.

Jon glanced at his watch. Wow. Almost ten. Time had flown by without him knowing, and to think he had worried over how to keep her entertained.

Except with the dogs now outside, being completely alone with her felt…weird. He cleared his throat and lowered the lid of the piano, unsure of what to do next. She was unlike other clients he could easily fall into the same old routine of small talk and sexual-laden innuendos. And he found himself floundering for a way to begin. He could feel the weight of her stare, and he wished he could yank off those sunglasses to see those eyes up close and personal. Was she still measuring him against Jaime? Judging him? Mocking him?

“So…you live here,” he began, then mentally kicked himself for such a dumb question, before adding quickly. “Alone?”

For a tension-filled minute, it seemed like she wouldn’t respond, but she eventually gave a curt nod.

“When did you move in?” Jon queried politely. “It doesn’t feel like you’ve lived here for a long time.”

She cocked her head to the side as if contemplating his question. Finally, she wrote on the board. ONE WEEK

“Ah…”

A week of being here and no one had bothered cleaning the place up? Seemed odd to him, but then again, nothing about tonight had been normal. He allowed his gaze to finally drift around the living room, which was furnished with architecture still steeped in the last century. It gave it an air of gentry and old money, making him wonder just which House she belonged to. Tyrion had only given her name as Ms. D. Storm and his curiosity to know what the D stood for was almost eating him alive. ‘Storm’ was the name given to bastards born in the Stormlands, wasn’t it? So, in a way, they had one thing in common since having the last name of ‘Snow’ meant he was a bastard from the North.

 _We could exchange tales of being raised as outsiders, Ms. D,_ he mused with a rueful smile. _How much shit did we have to go through to get to this point? Though being able to live in such a place…maybe you were better off._

Unfortunately, Tyrion had warned him not to pry too much into her background, so Jon would keep his peace…for now. Besides, it was unlikely he would receive a callback.

His gaze traveled over the many portraits that lined the oak paneled walls; many of them with paintings of men and women clad in breeches, armor, or billowing corseted gowns with impossibly narrow waistlines. If this was a family tree, the gods had definitely blessed them in the looks department for they were all stunning and seemed to have a few things in common; fair, golden, or silver-white hair and eyes that were variants of purple. If he didn’t know any better, he would assume they were the infamous Targaryens, but the likelihood of this house belonging to that family was fifty to one.

Either way, those unique traits made them look ethereal, not of this world, especially the portrait of a young girl – who couldn’t be older than sixteen – sitting daintily on a chair with an open book on her lap. Her waist-length silver hair was held back from her face with twin braids that accentuated a heart-shaped face. Striking violet eyes held hidden secrets, mischief, and warmth all once. Her rosy lips were full, pouty, and simply begged to be kissed. A gazelle-like neck was adorned with a string of pearls, and the turquoise ballgown she wore had a bodice showcasing a bosom that promised to leave men wanting more when she grew older.

 _Damn_ , she was simply _breathtaking_.

Unfortunately, his continued examination of the girl was blocked when that damn chalkboard almost hit his face.

YOU ARE DROOLING.

 _He was?_ Humiliated at the notion of being caught acting like a horny teen, he attempted to wipe his mouth discreetly (though he came away with nothing), when she held up the board again.

DO YOU LIKE HER?

 _Huh?_ He blushed and tried to deny his obvious curiosity, but something about the way she was staring at him had him putting two-and-two together. He looked at the portrait and then back to the covered figure in the wheelchair.

_Holy shit! Could it really be…?_

“That was _you_?” he asked incredulously.

She gave no response, and perhaps it wasn’t necessary, for the dogs had returned and now sought her attention. She paused long enough from petting them to scribble on her board again.

YOU CAN GO NOW. THANK YOU.

With deft expertise, she swiveled her wheelchair around and began to move toward the elevator, but Jon, now more intrigued at the mystery of why that beauty had now chosen to live her golden years like this, had him forgetting an important rule of his job; _never pry into matters that do not concern you._

“Why?” he inquired almost desperately as he rose to his feet to chase after her. “What happened to make you this way?”

She stopped moving, and the dogs now adept to sensing their mother’s emotions, bared their teeth and growled in warning. Jon took a step back but held his ground for the most part. He meant no harm, and knowing she was never going to request him again anyway, he could at least leave knowing his curiosity was slightly sated.

Finally, she scribbled something on her board and held it above her head without turning to him.

YOU SHOULD LEAVE NOW.

 _Fuck._ “Can I at least know your name? I know you won’t want to see me again, but I…just…”

She seemed to sigh in exasperation, erased the board with clear impatience, and scribbled a quick response. Again, she held the board above her head.

DANY. HAPPY? G’NIGHT, JON SNOW.

She couldn’t seem to get into the elevator fast enough, and Jon could almost feel the anger simmering off her as the doors closed and she was carted upstairs with her dogs as bodyguards.

_Dany. Dany Storm._

She sounded like a classic movie star or a famous musician, but someone with such a name and background would be easily recognizable, wouldn’t they? All he had to do was a quick internet search and _something_ was bound to pull up.

_But you are not supposed to pry, remember? Just let sleeping dogs lie, Jon Snow. What’s the point anyway?_

With a sigh, he spun on his heels to leave; having overstayed his welcome. He didn’t bother unrolling his sleeves, or wearing his jacket and coat, for his shirt was now stuck to his skin with sweat. Tossing those over his arm, he took one last look at his surroundings, hating that a part of him was already feeling bereft about leaving on such a sour note.

He could already hear the angry phone calls he was going to receive from Tyrion and then Cersei. If he was lucky, he’d get only a month's suspension, but if Ms. Dany was to leave a scathing review, he would be lucky if he even got to work in this business again. People like her wielded all the power to make or break a person like him.

It was almost unfair when one thought about it.

It wasn’t until he was half-way home, did it finally hit him – his gift of the purple chrysanthemum? She had kept it on her lap, almost hidden beneath the blanket, the entire time.

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Three Questions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so very much, as always, for the great feedback! *bows gratefully*  
> (Un)fortunately, this is going to be the last update for the next couple of weeks as I'll be off on a much-needed vacation! Whooohooo!  
> After all that's happened, I need the break *lol*  
> In the interim, I hope you enjoy the new chapter!

* * *

 

“Earth to Jon Snow. Where are you tonight, my love?”

Jon blinked himself to the present and forced his attention on the attractive naked brunette sliding seductively against him. Her heated brown eyes spoke of enticing promises, but for an alarming second, her name was as memorable as a flitting shadow until the warmth of her hand on his cock shot it back to his consciousness.

_Margaery. Her name is Margaery._

“Just thinking of all the ways I can make you scream my name, sweetheart,” he fabricated around a cheeky grin while swooping in to capture her giggles in a breathless kiss. He spun her onto her back and prepared for a second go-around…or was it the third? What did it matter in the grand scheme of things? Hearing the low gasp of his name as he buried deep into her should be enough, shouldn’t it?

Yet as he stood in the bathroom an hour later, brushing his teeth and staring at his sullen reflection in the mirror, he pondered on the ‘weirdness’ of the past two weeks.

_Nothing happened._

And _that_ was slowly driving him insane.

After his evening with Ms. Storm, he had suffered through one of the most restless nights of his life. Torturous hours were spent going over what he could have done differently and how he was to explain his actions to his bosses should he be called in for a dreaded ‘meeting’. Clients who were willing to shell out that much money, or want Jamie fucking Lannister, were not easy to dismiss especially after such a disastrous conclusion to the evening. There was no way Dany wasn’t going to complain, and knowing he was never going to get another opportunity to redeem himself, made him feel even worse. Perhaps it was just his pride speaking; after all, the last time he had any subpar experience with a client was over a year ago. This was a blemish to be erased from his resume.

Finally giving up on getting any sleep he was up by five a.m. and with Ghost in tow, took off jogging around the neighborhood to clear his mind.

That didn’t help at all.

Arya would awaken, a couple of hours later, to find her breakfast waiting and a cranky older brother staring at his phone as if it was an alien lifeform. She tried making conversation, being careful not to pester about his client from the night before. If he was this upset, it must have been a rare terrible experience. Usually, there were two modes after any job; plain exhaustion where he’d sleep in and not want to be disturbed or relatively pleased where breakfast was usually a sumptuous experience. Luckily, the simple omelet and toast today was still edible considering his temperament. However, after the fifth grunted absentminded response from him, she gave up, placed a quick kiss on his forehead, hugged Ghost in farewell, and bolted for school.

Jon, who vaguely realized his sister had left, was still too stunned at what his bank account revealed. He was tempted to call customer support just to make sure it wasn’t a mistake, but no…there it was…all six figures safely transferred overnight. Ms. Storm had fulfilled her part of the deal, but to his chagrin, he found he wasn’t completely pleased about it. The money was great, don’t get him wrong, but never had he found himself so eager to know what she actually _thought_ about the evening. Why exactly had she paid if she was so upset with him? Was she just doing it out of obligation? Pity? Or was she just being malicious in a round-about way?

Cursing beneath his breath, he pulled up his profile on _The Night’s Watch_ page. He had texted Tyrion about updating his stats, and all he had received from the dwarf was a noncommittal ‘ok’. Not surprising, nothing had changed so far. Tyrion was yet to add any of the updates Jon had sent.

 _Give him time, Jon,_ he chided himself. _You just sent him the message last night. He’s got a shit ton to do besides cater to your every need._

Anxiety still clawed at him like a restless mistress, as he scrolled quickly to the review section and skimmed the previous gushing praises left for him. He was proud of his perfect five-star rating so far, and as he kept scrolling with the growing dread that he’d see her blistering ‘Anon’ review with a one-star rating beside it, he let out a breath at the sight of the glowing review from his encounter four days ago. So, no review yet from Dany…

_What the hell?_

That should have made him relieved; that and not getting any call from Tyrion or Cersei to berate him. So, why the fuck did he _still_ feel dissatisfied? There was something so… _dismissive_ about just sending the money and not even taking the time to leave some feedback. Hadn’t she told Tyrion something… _anything_ about him? Jon knew his bosses always followed up with the clients, so why the ‘silence’ so far?

His frustration would grow when his inbox was soon filled with five new clients he had to prepare for. If he accepted them all, he would be busy for at least the next two months.

_Good. Maybe that will make me stop thinking about that goddamn woman._

Except for finding himself calling up Tyrion with the pretext of wanting to follow up on his next batch of clientele, and when he could manage it, tried to sneak in a query about Ms. Storm.

“So…eh…” _Seven hells, this was awkward._ “Did you ever get to hear from Ms. Storm? I mean, I know she doesn’t speak, but maybe she left an email, letter…something about our evening together?”

There was a puzzled pause at the other end, and when Tyrion spoke, his voice was cautious. “Did something happen that night?”

“No! I mean…why would you ask that?”

“You got your money, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but-”

“So what’s the problem? If you got paid, you must have done something right. What are you so worried about?”

“I’m not worried-”

“You wanted her to leave a review for you?” Tyrion replied and from the way he sounded, it was clear he was browsing through Jon’s page. “Hmm…you’re right, we do need to update your profile. Remember to stop by the studio sometime this week for a photoshoot.”

Jon knew it was going to be pointless getting Tyrion to understand his plight, and so he set about trying to block the entire thing from his mind. Besides, he had a whole set of women just waiting for his attention.

Ms. Storm was officially history.

 

* * *

 

“Dear gods, you are _beautiful_ , Jon,” came the sultry commentary as bold hands seemed to appear from nowhere to run up his sides, caress his torso before wrapping slender arms around his shoulders. She placed playful kisses on his shoulder, her large brown eyes flashing with lust and mischief, though her lips formed a pout. “I hate that you have to leave already. This weekend flew by so fast.”

Jon growled playfully and attempted to bite her hand, earning a girlish yelp of delight from her.

Margaery Tyrell, daughter of one of the richest and most important Houses in Westeros, was a repeat client and one of his favorites. She was fun and willing to try new things not just in the bedroom, but in every other aspect of life. She enjoyed traveling, which was why they were currently in the penthouse of a hotel overlooking the Summer Sea in Dorne. Last time, they had made love beneath the stars on the beautiful island of Lys, and another time hiked the mountains of the Vale for a weekend. She was a great conversationalist, had a wicked sense of humor, and was never boring. In fact, she was perfect girlfriend material and there had been times he had caught himself wondering if he ought to give it a try; goodness knows she had put out the hints so many times.

Unfortunately, there was the golden rule drilled into the heads of the escorts: _Try not to get too emotionally attached to your clients. In short, do your best not to go falling in love with any of them._

Easier said than done. There were women he did feel some sort of emotional connection to, especially those married women who felt neglected by their husbands or families. Those were the sexless jobs, where the day or evening was simply spent doing the little things to show appreciation for all that they do. And then there were the widows; lonely women who wanted to be reminded of the men they had lost. A warm hug, a nice meal, rubbing their feet or giving a massage, or just watching a movie was sometimes more than enough.

How could he ignore them all and selfishly focus on _one_ woman?

“Are you sure you’re okay?” came the question which had him raising a brow as he hopped into his jeans.

“That’s the fourth time you’ve asked me that,” Jon replied with a smile. He zipped up and searched for his black polo shirt. “Did I not please you enough this time?”

Margaery, who was still naked, sat cross-legged on the king-sized bed and folded her arms across her chest. She observed him in silence for a moment, before speaking. “You look like you’ve got even more on your mind. I know you guys aren’t allowed to share your personal issues with us - Loras has already told me your secrets - but I thought we were friends by now.” She leaned forward to tug on the bottom of his shirt like a petulant child seeking attention. “Jon? Talk to me please.”

Jon withdrew her hand gently and raised it to his lips. “I’m fine, Marg. You worry too much, and besides, tell Loras to keep his fucking mouth shut.”

Loras was her younger brother and currently just ranked below Jon at _The Night’s Watch_. Jon was sure the esteemed Tyrell family must have been aghast at learning their son was an escort…unless they didn’t know it yet…well aside from Margaery.

“Urgh, you’re impossible,” she huffed in frustration and fell back to the pillows. “If you weren’t such a beast in the sheets I would have kicked you out a long time ago.”

“Ouch. My feelings are hurt,” he mock whined and clutched his chest. When she remained sulking, he grinned and leaned over the bed to seize her lips in a hard kiss. “I promise the next time I show up, I’ll be in a much better mood.”

 

* * *

 

 

He strolled through the terminal with earphones on, not listening to music this time around, but trying not to smile at Arya’s bitching at how tough her History exam had been. His flight had just arrived at King’s Landing, and though he was exhausted, he looked forward to frolicking with Ghost and hopefully winning, at least, one damn video game with his sister.

He deserved the break for the past two weeks had been more emotionally draining than he expected, no thanks to one of his clients admitting she was in love with him in the middle of a dinner date and creating a scene when he tried to politely decline her advances. When she had poured her wine on him, shrieked that he was a ‘heartless cad’, and tried to attack him with her steak knife, that was officially the end of their relationship. So, yeah aside from his family, he was especially looking forward to seeing Tormund and the guys. The gods knew he owed them several beers and needed to really let loose.

Speaking of the guys, only Tormund was aware of the real details about his job. The others simply assumed he worked in real estate; something Tormund had helped embellish if asked. Jon was glad for the redhead’s nonjudgmental attitude toward it. After all:

“You gotta do what you gotta do to survive in this dump,” Tormund had said with a pat of Jon’s shoulders. “Getting to fuck so many beautiful women is living the dream, Jonny boy. Just as long as you’re happy, that’s all that matters, right?”

_Happiness, huh?_

He was happy. He _had_ to be since he-

“Oh, excuse me,” he began apologizing on autopilot as he made the turn and bumped into –

_Dany! No, wait…_

“Watch where you’re going, son,” came the impatient warning from the white-haired senior male who was pushing a woman, in a wheelchair, that was clearly _not_ Dany. The rosy-cheeked wrinkly-faced smiling woman, in a large pink bonnet, waved at Jon and then chided her husband for being such a cranky-puss.

Apologizing again for his clumsiness, Jon slipped on his sunglasses, ran trembling fingers through his hair, and took a deep shuddering breath to collect himself.

_What the fuck was wrong with him?_

Here he was, pleased he had managed to get through his jobs without dwelling on a certain handicapped woman. Now all it had taken was bumping into a woman - almost dressed like her - to bring the memories flooding back. Jon blamed it all on that godforsaken portrait. He knew it was ridiculous to imagine that Dany still looked the same, after all that picture must have been painted at least forty or fifty years ago. Still, his fantasy -this ‘sick’ part of his mind – kept imagining that taking off those layers of clothing would reveal the _same_ woman in the portrait. She hadn’t aged at all! She was still the same beautiful Dany who must have driven any hotblooded male mad with desire.

 _And what makes you think she’s still not beautiful?_ he thought with a snort. _Women like that age like fine wine, and there’s got to be a logical reason for why she’s so averse to anyone seeing her current state._

“Dany Storm?” Arya asked with a frown later that night at dinner, which was a large pepperoni pizza with extra cheese being consumed on their living room floor. She shook her head, drank some more of her root beer, and belched rudely. “Name’s not ringing a bell. Was she famous?”

Jon, who was scrolling through his phone, shrugged. “I’m searching and nothing’s coming up. Well, there is someone calling herself ‘Dany Storm’, but she’s a fucking porn star.”

Arya laughed. “You sure it’s not _your_ Dany?”

Jon smirked. “My Dany’s a senior citizen stuck in a wheelchair, and her boobs could not become a floating device when needed either.”

“And you say she’s got three malamutes like Ghost? Wow! How does she take care of them if she can’t speak or walk?” Arya suddenly sat up and snapped her fingers; eyes widening with realization. “Heeey, what if she’s just fucking with you? Like a test or something? It might not be her real name, and she can actually walk and talk!”

Jon rolled his eyes in dismissal. “Why would she go through all that trouble? Besides, she was expecting Jaime, remember? Anyway, I’m sure she probably has help come in occasionally,” Jon replied flippantly, though his rationale failed to put him at ease. It wasn’t the first time he had found himself concerned about her personal safety. He kept wondering if she or her pooches were eating well. Was her pantry still filthy and in need of restocking? What about the fridge? She would need more water and at least more fresh fruits. Seven hells, maybe he should have prepared enough food for a few more days and-

“Ouch!” he rubbed his forehead, where Arya had smacked him lightly. “What did you do that for?”

“You had that brooding face again,” she complained. “Shit, Jon If you’re so worried about her, maybe you should just go visit…as a regular man and not an escort.”

Jon gave her an exasperated look. “Rule #13 or whatever, do not show up at a client’s home outside business hours or without authorization. And I thought I told you, I don’t think I made a good impression on her. Sure she paid, but it might as well have been a big ‘thanks-for-nothing.’”

Arya studied him for a while before reaching out to place a kiss on his forehead. “This one’s really bothering you, huh? Look for what its worth, I’m sure she’s doing okay. You said the house looked relatively clean, so yeah, maybe she does have help. And I doubt anyone would think of messing with her with those three as bodyguards. Ah…new client? Your phone’s ringing.”

Jon, who had tossed the device to the side and was currently rubbing Ghost’s stomach, absently reached for it and made it active again.

He sighed at the message. It was from Tyrion, and yes, it was a new job.

_Great. I just fucking got back. Why do I have to…wait…what?!_

“What? What is it?” Arya asked as she watched her brother sit up with an incredulous expression on his visage. He looked as if he had been seen a ghost.

“She…she wants me back,” he whispered in disbelief. His heart was pounding hard within his chest; his pulses quickening with anticipation and a relief he could not adequately express. “She fucking wants me back! Dany!”

“That’s awesome,” Arya cheered as Ghost barked to show his excitement as well. “When? Not tonight surely.”

“No…tomorrow…wants me there by seven in the evening.”

“So you’ll be there only for the night, right?”

Jon grinned as he typed back his acceptance; fuck getting his much-needed downtime. “Who knows? Hopefully, I don’t piss her off too much and make her regret her decision.”

He grabbed another slice of pizza and bit into it with gusto. Suddenly, he was ravenous and ready to kick his sister’s ass on screen.

“Ready, Needle?” he asked, calling her by a nickname he had given her as kids. “Get ready to eat my dust.”

 

* * *

 

 

He lost the game, but that was okay.

Usually, he would have sulked at getting his ass kicked so easily, but the past twenty-four hours had dragged on endlessly. Like a kid eager for his first taste of chocolate, he couldn’t wait to see the mysterious Dany and her three furry companions again. Arya had teased him mercilessly when he made the mistake of asking for her opinion on what to wear. It wasn’t the first time he had sought her help with such matters, but he didn’t want to come off being too overdressed; and since he doubted Dany would want to be going outdoors, they finally settled on the casual short-sleeved navy shirt and gray slacks. He kept his hair tied back; all to combat the heat within the mansion.

The first thing to hit him as he approached 45 King’s Gate, was that the elephant grass and untidy creeping vines had been cleared. What he had assumed was just a plain boring wrought iron gate, now looked more impressive and intimidating in the fading twilight. However, it was what was etched in its middle that was the most surprising. It was a familiar sigil of a House now considered extinct.

A tarnished gold dragon with three heads belonging to the infamous Targaryens.

_Holy…shit…_

It was all beginning to make sense now, and yet it didn’t. He had so many questions that he doubted Dany would want to answer.

As Jon pulled into the grounds, which now looked vastly different for the lawns had been mowed, budding shrubberies had been planted, the fountain had been cleared, and though it wasn’t functioning yet, there were signs that it was currently being re-constructed. With everything cleaned up, Jon could see just how vast the estate was. He hadn’t had the opportunity to see the backyard, since it had been dark and raining last time, but as he stepped out of the car, he whistled in appreciation at what appeared to be a lake just peeking beyond the rustling tall elm trees in the distance.

He could also make out a white van parked back there, which gave him hope that there was someone else around. 

He heard the excited barking before he could even press the doorbell, and as the door swung open by itself, Jon was almost toppled to the ground by three very excited canines.

“Whoa, whoa! Easy, boys! I missed you too!” he laughed as he set aside the bouquet of flowers he’d purchased to stoop to his haunches. In turn, he ruffled each shaggy fur and suffered their wet kisses and nuzzles until he had to beg for mercy.

Drogon would pull away first when he noticed his mother approach, and with a series of barks to her – as if introducing Jon all over again – he took up position as her personal bodyguard again.

I DON’T GET WHY THEY LIKE YOU SO MUCH, Dany had written on her board. SO ANNOYING.

Jon rose to his feet with a chuckle and held out the bouquet of flowers in greeting.

“I seem to have a way with animals…well dogs mostly. Can’t say the same for most humans.” He smiled warmly. “It’s good to see you again, Dany.”

She was dressed like before, only she choose softer pastel colors this time. She stared at the bouquet and seemed to raise her hands hesitantly, but at Jon’s soft nod of encouragement, she accepted them with a bashful lowering of her head. It was a mix of purple chrysanthemums and pink roses sprinkled with some baby’s breaths. It was odd to see her raise it to her face to smell them, considering the mask she was wearing, but it sent a flutter of warmth through Jon’s chest at the sight.

“I can put them in a vase for you, if you’d like,” he offered. “I think I found a couple in the kitchen the other day.”

She nodded and allowed him to retrieve the flowers.

“I have to be honest,” Jon admitted sheepishly. “After the way we parted last time, I didn’t think you’d want to see me again.”

She shrugged and then wrote on her board. I ONLY WANT YOU TO COOK ME DINNER.

Jon tried to hide his smirk. It would have been easy to get pissed off at the statement, but he found it amusing. She was not unlike some older clients he’d had in the past when it came to being blunt with their needs. Besides, if she had called him back just for that…it was a plus, wasn’t it?

“Oh? At least I made an impression in one area. You want me to go shopping again?”

I HAVE INGREDIENTS IN FRIDGE. NOTES IN KITCHEN. SAME AS BEFORE.

“Right. Well, I’ll head off to get things ready, and I’ll ring the bell, correct?”

She gave the thumbs up in agreement, and with no other commentary, spun her wheelchair around to head toward the living room. Viserion trotted after her, while Drogon and Rhaegal chose to follow him into the kitchen.

“Nice,” he muttered in appreciation at the changes that had occurred there as well. The cupboards were now stocked with many more cooking essentials, the fridge and freezer stuffed with mostly fresh or frozen products, and the pantry no longer looked like a relic from the Dark Ages. It now smelled of fresh paint and varnish. The once dusty and archaic shelves had been replaced with sturdier weirwood, and though it wasn’t completely stocked, there was still enough canned goods and vegetables to last for some time.

“So, what’s for dinner tonight?” he asked his companions as they sat on their haunches to watch him. Dany’s note was on the island counter top, and as he read through her instructions for preparing the pancetta and Brussels sprouts linguini, he mused on what that sigil could mean when it came to Dany.

Everyone knew about the Targaryens, well at least their troubled history that is. They once ruled over Westeros and were considered the wealthiest and most powerful family ever. They had castles, mansions, and estates all over the place, but their stronghold had been at Dragonstone – an entire fucking island to call their own. It was now a tourist destination under the care of some mysterious investor; same as the Red Keep, based in King’s Landing, which had also been the home of the doomed family. Many claimed that their downfall was all due to the madness interwoven with the family’s practice of incest. It was a sin in the eyes of the old gods and the new. Why else would an entire family be faced with such bad luck? The last Targaryen family, led by Aerys the Second, would be assassinated in cold blood during a holiday vacation. He, his pregnant wife, and two sons.

 _The irony,_ Jon thought with a bitter smile.

Most were sure it was a result of Aerys falling into bad business deals with the wrong people, and those wrong people eventually getting their revenge. Whatever the motive was, wiping out the entire family in one swell swoop was officially the end of a dynasty that the history books would never soon forget. Hate them or love them, the Targaryens _made_ Westeros what it was, and it was a damn shame what happened to their legacy.

It was depressing when one thought about it, and as Jon tasted his sauce, he had to wonder if his own family’s plight would have been the same. If he had joined them on that trip, and Arya hadn’t survived, the entire Stark family would cease to exist as well.

He shuddered at the thought.

Viserion, who must have smelled the food, pushed his way into the kitchen with his muzzle, and was just in time to catch his siblings being fed bits of pancetta.

“Ooh look who came running back, eh?” Jon laughed as the needy dog tried to shove his way to the front to get his share of the food. “Here you go…and no more, guys. I need to save the rest for next time. Besides, I don’t think your mom would like me feeding this to you. Shssh, I think she’s watching us.”

The dogs understood and did their best to behave, while he set about getting the table ready. For dessert, she had not stated anything in particular – which was odd – so he took the liberty of preparing one of his (and Arya’s) favorites; peach roses – a pastry layered with fresh peaches and jam, folded to form petals, baked, and then sprinkled with powered sugar. He arranged them beside her plate of pasta, set her bottles of water, and placed her flowers in a vase. Satisfied with the finished product, he rung the bell and let him out; only instead of sitting in the kitchen, he decided to enjoy the night air on the back porch.

It was just as beautiful as he imagined.

He sank his hands into the pockets of his slacks and made his way down the narrow curved cobbled path leading to a sprawling tended field; nothing short of fifteen acres by his mental calculation. It was surrounded by a thick cluster of elm and weirwood trees – as if forming a natural barricade from its neighbors. The lake was just beyond that, and beneath the illumination of old-fashioned lanterns, it was given a hazy golden glow that was quite romantic…for the right sort of occasion. There was a pier leading to it, and Jon could make out a white motorboat bobbing gently beside it. Closer to the home was what appeared to be a stable. It looked abandoned now, but Jon could almost picture the previous occupants galloping across the field with whatever expensive thoroughbreds they owned, while spending evenings hosting lavish parties by the lake. If he turned back to the house, which now stood looming and silent with its muted lights within, he could imagine that once upon a time, each room had been gaily lit; and men and women dressed in fine livery pranced around and stood on the balcony exchanging plans to take over the world.

_The regal Targaryens…all that…gone._

Rhaegal barked to jar him from his thoughts and Jon watched as he and Viserion ran onto the field and leapt about in delight.

 _Ghost would love it here,_ Jon mused with a wistful smile. He almost regretted not purchasing a country home and choosing to live in an apartment. Dogs like Ghost needed the space to run around, not being cooped up in concrete cages.

 _Someday_ , he thought with a sigh as he stared at the heavens. _We’ll all get back to Winterfell and then you can play around as much as you like, Ghost. I swear it._

“All right, boys,” he called with a sharp whistle. “Time to go in.”

Hoping he hadn’t missed her bell, he would press his ear against the door to listen for any sound of movement. When he was met with silence, he dared to crack it open…and was relieved to find it empty. He was pleased to see she had finished everything, peach roses included. This time her note had him chuckling:

 

_If you’re trying to get me fat. It won’t work._

_Next time, less powdered sugar._

 

 _Next time? So, is this going to be a continued relationship?_ Jon didn’t dare hope.

Once done with the dishes and cleaning up, he was instructed to appear in the living room, where she was watching a silent movie on a small television he hadn’t even noticed the last time he was here. He figured it must have been added recently, for some of the furniture had been rearranged to fit the entertainment center. Aside from that, the large room was as he remembered it, still mysterious with its shadows yet intimate with the warm hues from only two antique lamps. He struggled not to stare at the portrait that had haunted his dreams and chose to sit on an ottoman next to her, but not too close for fear of getting into her personal space. The dogs sat at their feet and tuned in as well; their ears flickering every now and then in response to the jaunty tune emanating from the screen.

Jon wasn’t familiar with the film, but he did know the actor; a famous comedian who was known for wearing a black bowler hat, oversized shoes, and twirling his cane. It was a funny movie, and a scene - where he was pushed into the pond by a policeman - had him trying not to chuckle.

Except, someone else was doing so.

It was a light happy sound, barely audible, but Jon dared to steal a glance at his companion just to be sure. She was holding a gloved hand to her mouth and, indeed, giggling. For some reason, hearing that muffled sound made her seem even more… _real_ , if that made any sense. He hated that he couldn’t see her complete facial reaction, but he’d have to imagine that beneath that mask was a smile still as beautiful as ever.

_If I’ll ever get to see it._

“You really like old movies?” he asked in polite conversation. “These must have been new to you when you were a child, right?”

She made a huffing sound and scribbled on her board. I’M NOT THAT OLD.

Jon blushed at the silent reprimand and struggled to make amends. “I didn’t mean you were as old as the movie. I mean…I just-”

She might have been wearing the dark sunglasses, but Jon could sense an eye roll from a mile away. She wrote again. One word this time.

STOP.

She pointed to the screen in a motion that he understood quickly. _Shut up and let me watch my movie._

They went through two more short films, and Jon found himself getting lost in the ridiculous premises and troublesome situations the star found himself in. It would take him a moment to realize he was being tapped on the shoulder, and it was her chalkboard.

SIT ON A CHAIR, it ordered. YOU ARE STRAINING YOUR BACK.

He was unaware he had been absently stretching his back muscles all this time and turning red at her ability to observe his discomfort, he thanked her and settled into the love seat; almost sighing in pleasure as his back settled comfortably against the plush cushion. He would look up in time to catch her staring before she seemed to shake herself and turn back to the television. Was it his imagination or did she appear to be blushing; not that he could tell, but she was acting bashful – which would be an odd thing considering her age. Women of her stature were usually the _cause_ of the emotion. Still, there was something rather cute about her reaction.

The shows ended, and the next programming schedule promised a rip-roaring movie featuring another famous (but deceased) leading man. Jon stole a quick glance at his watch. It was almost ten, and he was sure he would be asked to leave soon.

IS THIS BORING TO YOU? She asked as she held up her board.

Jon winced. She must have caught him in the act.

“Not at all,” he replied with what he hoped was utmost sincerity. “I just figured it was almost time for you to get to bed, and you’d want me gone.”

She didn’t appear convinced, and Jon smiled softly. “Believe it or not, hanging out with you is a blessing compared to…well, I get to relax a little. Does that make any sense?”

She gave a slight nod, though she still appeared unimpressed by his confession. Jon decided to change tactics.

“Do you mind if I asked you a couple of questions? You don’t have to answer them if you don’t want to.”

She shrugged and tapped her board lightly.

Jon took that as a go-ahead. “It looks like you’ve got help now, right? You have someone who takes care of you during the daytime or…?”

Scribble. ARE YOU A SOCIAL WORKER?

Jon flushed and cleared his throat. “I know it sounds like I’m being overly…” What? Protective? What was he being so protective about? She wasn’t the first woman who lived alone, and yet his instincts just wouldn’t let go.

I HAVE HELP, she would write when she realized he was going to keep floundering for the right words. YOU DON’T HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT ME.

“Ah…well…”

IF I WANTED A BABYSITTER, I WOULD HAVE ASKED FOR ONE.

 _Dear gods, you can be a bitch when you want to, can’t you?_ Jon thought with a raised brow.

“Why do we always seem to get into arguments over nothing?” he muttered more to himself than to her, but she heard all the same.

YOU ARE CURIOUS ABOUT ME.

Jon gave a helpless snort. “I’m sorry, but…can you blame me? Everything about you screams ‘mystery’, and as exciting as that is, I still have questions.”

I’M NOT A SERIAL KILLER.

“Well, I didn’t think-”

NO DEAD BODIES IN THE BASEMENT…YET.

Jon opened his mouth to retort, when he noticed the movement of her mask. She was smiling. _The cheeky little…_

He shook his head unable to control his amusement. “You enjoy torturing me, don’t you?”

IT’S TOO EASY.

He blushed. “Well, that’s not very…”

ALL RIGHT. LET’S PLAY A GAME.

“A game?”

YES. YOU CAN ASK ME ONLY THREE QUESTIONS.

Jon was surprised at this, but he knew it was an opportunity he couldn’t afford to miss. _Three questions, huh?_ He stole a quick glance at the portrait barely illuminated by the lamps. She was a Targaryen. She _had_ to be a Targaryen, but if the stories about their extinction was true, then _who_ was she? And was it possible that one of them had actually survived and had just chosen to remain stuck in this house all this time?

_But remember she said she’s just been here for only a couple of weeks, which means she must have come from somewhere else._

“Are you a Targaryen?” he finally blurted out; unsure of why his heart was now pounding like a snare drum.

She studied him for a long moment, before finally picking up her chalk to write one word that would have his mind and pulses racing.

YES.

_Holy shit! I knew it! I fucking knew it!_

“So…so this is obviously your family home…but…who lived here? I mean…did you live here and move or what? Everyone says your family was…”

He stopped when she held up her hand and then wagged a finger in reprimand.

BE CAREFUL.

“Right.” Jon took a deep breath to control his excitement. He was literally sitting on the edge of the sofa, and even the dogs were now attuned to his emotions. Drogo’s tail was beginning to wag a little faster. “So…have you been in Westeros all this time?”

NO.

Oooh…things were slowly falling into place now. But he had only one question left, and he had no idea what to ask for there were now a million more racing in his mind. So, choosing the one that’s been most persistent, he pointed to the portrait.

“Is that you?”

The mask moved again; whether it was in a smile or frown, he couldn’t tell. However, as she scribbled out an answer and then raised the board, the single word response seemed to deflate him for some reason.

NO.

 _She’s lying,_ came the sudden words to fill his head; so loud that for a moment, he almost turned to look over his shoulder to make sure no one had actually said that to him. She was erasing her board and writing again, and his brows met in consternation. If he was to believe his inner voice, why would she lie about something like that? What was the point of it? Was she afraid of someone or something? Is that why she covered herself like this? Did she still believe she had to remain in hiding from whoever had set about destroying her family? Seven hells, that assassination had happened almost twenty-five years ago. Jon was still suckling at the breast then, but if he was to do the mental math and Dany was indeed lying, twenty-five plus sixteen (guessing that was the age in the portrait), she would only be in her forties. Hardly a woman ready to kick the bucket anytime soon.

YOU DON’T BELIEVE ME.

Jon blinked at the accusatory words and cursed at his inability to hide his thoughts from this woman. He was sure he’d been able to master controlling his facial expressions, especially in this line of work, but Dany had the uncanny ability to read him like a book. It was unnerving to say the least.

“It’s not that I don’t believe you. It’s just-”

SHE’S MY MOTHER.

“Oh.” _And I’m still not buying it. If she’s your mother, why did you get so pissed off that night when I asked about it? Why-?_

WE SHOULD CALL IT A NIGHT.

_Ah, fuck!_

“And we were just getting to the good part,” he said with a smile that did not betray his disappointment as he rose to his feet with great reluctance.

She said nothing, but instead of heading straight to the elevator, she followed him to the front door with her dogs in tow. Jon hovered uncertainly as he was about to step out, before turning back to her.

“Thanks,” he finally uttered with slight embarrassment at sounding so eager. He could sense her raised brow of confusion. “I mean…for calling me back. Even if it was just for the cooking. You might not believe me, but I really appreciate that.”

She scribbled on her board. YES. YOU COOK WELL – BETTER THAN JAIME.

At the sight of the name, Jon felt the sudden slice of white hot jealousy sear through him. He hated himself for feeling this way, and he couldn’t really understand the need to anyway. Of course, she would have requested for Jaime again, and since it’s been over a month since they last met, it was stupid to assume she had spent all that time sitting around just waiting for him. He gripped the door handle at the notion of Jaime sharing that same kitchen, setting the table, flashing that megawatt smile and –

_Hold on there, Jon Snow. Aren’t you missing something? She called YOU back. Not Jaime. **YOU**. So, you should be rubbing that in Jaime’s face when next you see him._

WHAT ARE YOU STILL STANDING THERE FOR?

Jon couldn’t help grinning. All things considered, she looked adorable in her colorful mish-mash of clothing, including the way she held the board up between her hands like a child showcasing a finished project to her parents. The temptation to place a kiss on her head was overwhelming, but he had to keep his distance. He had learned how to read the signals and body language of his clients, and while some were willing to climb all over you from the get-go, others preferred not to be touched. Case in point, current client.

She was just about to write again, when Jon interrupted her with a chivalrous bow in farewell.

“I thank you for a wonderful evening, Dany,” he said and rose to full height. “I look forward to seeing you next time, and perhaps…we could even make it an entire day. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner? I’m all yours.”

She seemed to shrink into herself at that, though Jon had come to learn that it was just her bashful side taking over. She would lower her head and scribble something again, and this time, he couldn’t quite understand the lone word.

KIRIMVOSE, it said.

“Ki…rim…vose?” Jon read out slowly. “What does that mean?”

G’NIGHT JON SNOW, she would write with a shake of her head; though the slight motion of her lips beneath the mask showed she was smiling or trying to hide a smile. _Huh._ He was getting quite good at reading her emotions through the shield, and he mentally patted himself on the back for that small accomplishment.

“Goodnight, Dany,” he replied, this time with a mock salute.

She motioned for her dogs to follow, and as she spun her wheelchair around, Jon’s eyes widened at something else to catch his attention. It wasn’t much to go by, but it would only do more to solidify his theory that Ms. Dany Storm, the silent Targaryen, was _definitely_ not all as she appeared to be.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Signs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow!
> 
> I leave you all for vacation, and I return to quite a few thesis, dissertations, and metas about this story so far. Whaaaa?? You guys are amaze-balls! (to quote a certain pixie-sized actress) *lol*
> 
> I read each and every one with acute interest don't worry. Now, the question is...will you be proven right? Or will all this just be a great big disappointment? I write what the Muse/Mojo-goddess send my way, and my hope is that however it turns out, it will still be an entertaining read. :D
> 
> Someone also asked about making a mood board for this? I don't know if they were asking me to make one or if offering to make one; either way, I'm not averse to getting your wonderful creations if you're so inspired to do something for the story. I'll show them off proudly! :D
> 
> And now onto the story! Enjoy! And as always, your excellent feedback is always welcome and appreciated. *bows gratefully*

* * *

 

 

A trip to the popular Crunch Fit gym was akin to preparing for a gladiator match; only this involved ‘fighters’ eager to preen and primp around the place, while hoping they could intimidate you with bulging biceps, triceps, quads, rigid pectorals, or well-hung junks. And this was just the male population, which made up about 80% of the clientele. The other 20% were females either hoping to score a date (or quick fuck in a restroom), or those genuinely hoping to shed those extra pounds. It was a decent enough establishment, if you were willing to shell out the five hundred gold dragons monthly fee. You were guaranteed your own personal trainer, exclusive classes geared toward your fitness goal, a nutritionist, and a monthly supply of health drinks to keep you hydrated or some other bullshit like that.

It was the bane of Jon’s existence.

He disliked coming here for the obvious reasons; the stifling amalgamation of male testosterone (see aforementioned references to preening gladiators), also his apartment complex had a perfectly fine gym with even better equipment. So, why bother coming here?  The blame fell squarely on Theon Greyjoy, who had sent a text message, yesterday, all but begging him to show up.

 _The fellas are gonna be there, and I can’t stand being in their company for too long,_ his message had read. _I need backup, Jon. Please! I owe you one._

Jon could have made up any number of excuses; he had a client, he was sick, Ghost had a vet appointment, or Theon could just go fuck himself. However, since Theon was almost considered family; it was the least he could do before the man embarrassed himself in public.

It was why Jon found himself walking into Crunch Fit with a ready scowl on his visage that silently told everyone to ‘back off’ before they even thought of getting fresh with him. The familiar stench of old sweat, chlorine, and wet rubber assailed his senses, and as he maneuvered his way down the aisle of humming fitness machines, he prayed the whole affair would be over quickly. The place was jam-packed for the gods’ sake!

It was only five in the evening, yet the treadmill station was completely occupied with hard bodies in the latest sports gear and devices – clearly to show off - while several others waited their turns. The ellipticals were also overrun. There was no hope in the rowing machines area, and let’s not even get into the free weights section. _That_ was where the walking mass of male vanity seemed to convene, and Jon could already see the man responsible for his being here, lying on a narrow bench and grunting beneath a hundred and fifty-pound weight. Renly Baratheon was spotting him; only the #4 escort was smirking as he stood almost over Theon’s face, his clear erection nearly ripping a hole right through the stretch grey shorts he was wearing.

 _Seven hells._ No wonder Theon needed the support. Renly could be such a dick (no pun intended).

Renly was the first to notice him, and he whistled in appreciation as Jon began his stretching exercises. “Mmm. Mmmm. Mmm! Good to see you again, Beautiful.”

“Hi, Renly,” Jon greeted with a brief and strained smile.

The dark-haired man flashed a grin, which had Jon shaking his head in disbelief as he focused on the floor in concentration while working on his hamstrings. Renly was a good-looking man; tall and toned in all the right places. His piercing green eyes were a selling point as well as his long silky jet-black hair which he kept in a ponytail at all times. It was an open secret that Renly preferred members of his own sex, but he wasn’t averse to keeping the females happy should he ever come across a lucrative offer. _The Night’s Watch_ did cater to everyone’s sexual preferences, after all.

Jon was just about to put in his earphones, to block out any other inane conversation, when Theon finished with his bench press.

“Jon! You came!” he panted breathlessly in delight, while reaching for a towel to mop his flushed features. If he noticed Renly’s arousal almost poking his eye out, he paid no attention to it.

The #5 guy on the escort list was the typical lean, dark, and handsome type. Family friends from childhood, Jon was more than aware of Theon’s quirks. He wasn’t particularly charming, for his style leaned more toward being straightforward, or to be quite blunt, vain. Theon made no apologies for his personality, and he especially made no apologies for being a promiscuous demon. His reputation for picking most jobs that involved having a sexual encounter with the client, had earned him the reputation of being a walking penis.

Not that Theon cared, if anything he wore that mantle with pride and was ready to share tales of his escapades to anyone who cared to listen.

“Thank the gods,” Theon whispered as he sat beside Jon on the floor and began stretching as well. “Fucking Renly’s been hitting on me since I got here.”

“I thought he and Loras were still fucking,” Jon replied absently. He switched legs.

“Who knows with those two?” Theon groaned. “And he’s almost here…he and Jaime.”

At the mention of the Lannister’s name, Jon almost lost track of his inner counting. He cursed beneath his breath and started again, wishing he wouldn’t be so bothered at the mention of the older man. His feelings and relationship when it came to Jaime was conflicting to say the least. On one hand, he admired the man for being such a professional and helping him during those early months at the agency, but as time went by; the stories and reputation that seemed to follow Jaime left Jon feeling unsettled and eager to snatch that #1 title from him.

_But as long as he keeps plowing his goddamn twin sister, what chance do I have?_

It was impossible to comprehend their taboo relationship, but Jon had seen it first hand, and it was all he could do not to run out of the room. Cersei had made him watch, and despite his disgust at the idea of siblings being that intimate, Jon still found himself getting aroused at the sinful display. They had done it to ‘teach’ him a ‘few tricks’, and yes, he had definitely learned more than he bargained for. Those two had a bond that could never be broken, and it was plain to see in every touch, kiss, and fervent whisper of passion. The second time around, Cersei made him participate in a threesome (“and make no mistake, you will get such requests, my love,” Cersei had crooned). It was an experience Jon doubted he’d ever forget or reveal to anyone for as long as he lived.

Lucky he was yet to be given such jobs. He did have men who liked to watch him fuck their wives, or entertain them, but an actual _threesome_ …not yet. Thank the gods.

“Which one do you want to do first?” Theon was asking as Jon shook himself to the present. “Let’s do the leg press. Seems to be the only machine available at the moment.”

They made a beeline for the equipment before anyone else could claim it. Once cleaned, Jon settled in and began his exercises, and sure enough Theon began rambling about the client he had the night before. Just as he got into the part about the melted wax being poured all over his ass, Jon tuned him out. The last thing he wanted to hear (or see) was Theon’s ass woes.

Unfortunately, any thought of getting a reprieve from dealing with his fellow escorts was dashed as a sudden murmured hush was heard from across the gym. You only had to see a glimpse of the shiny mass of golden hair, towering above the rest, to know who was making his way over here.

Jaime fucking Lannister was in the building.

It was almost unfair to everyone else. It seemed as if the gods had decided to give all the best physical attributes to one guy, while leaving the scraps for everyone else. Tall, blond, and just about beautiful from head-to-toe, Jaime left wet puddles (from both males and females) wherever he went.

 _It’s no wonder she wanted him,_ Jon thought, not without a slice of bitterness at the memory of his first encounter with Dany. However, recalling their last meeting brought a smug smile to his face.

_She liked **my** cooking better._

“Jon Snow,” came the rumbling greeting as Jaime came to a stop before him. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Jaime,” Jon grunted as he pushed out his legs for the twenty-fifth time. His hamstrings were already burning. “Good to see you too.”

Jaime flashed a brief smile and might have said something else, when another murmur went up. This time, it was for the curly brown-haired man with the doe-like eyes of pale amber and a face chiseled by the gods themselves. Not quite as tall as Jaime, he was still able to command a presence in the room, but at the moment, Loras Tyrell was only concerned with meeting up with Renly Baratheon. Jon, Theon, and Jaime watched in varying degrees of confusion as the two men seemed to get into an argument of some sort.

Great. A lover’s spat for all too see. Cersei won’t be happy about that.

“Well, guess that explains why he was so grouchy on the way here,” Jaime stated with a raised brow. He craned his majestic neck around to see if there was any machine available for his use, and to Jon’s chagrin, one of the men who had been hogging the leg press next to Jon, rose to his feet in haste to offer it to Jaime.

_You’ve got to be kidding me!_

“Such nice people around here,” Jaime said with a playful smirk as he caught Jon’s glare of disapproval. “Gives me hope for the human race.”

“How have you been doing, Jaime?” Theon asked. Even he wasn’t immune to Jaime’s charms, for he had regressed to being an eager kid desperate for approval.

Jaime who was doing his stretches and giving everyone a good view of his taut physique clad in the Lannister colors of red and gold, glanced at Theon like a cockroach he’d like to step on.

“…Theon, right?” he finally replied as if the act of recalling the man’s name was a chore. “You work out here too, huh?”

“Oh yeah! All the time,” Theon began to gush, but Jaime held up a hand to silence him.

“Theon? Be a sport and go grab me a drink from the vending machine, will you?”

“Oh sure, which one do you like? The Aqua Lite? Or the PowerAid…that one’s my favorite-”

“Aqua Lite,” Jaime interrupted with clear impatience. His smile was a motion shy of a grimace. “Thanks.”

“No problem! Jon? You want anything?”

“I’m good,” Jon replied, almost feeling sorry for how pathetic Theon was coming across. _Goddamn Jaime._

“Seven hells,” the blond sighed as he settled into the machine to begin his sets. They both watched as Theon dashed off to complete his assignment. “What’s his problem?”

Jon remained silent. He didn’t want to get into conversation with Jaime, and he was already eyeing the rest of the room, hoping for a chance to get to work on an elliptical –

“I hear you got to meet the mysterious Ms. Dany Storm, hmm?”

Jon, who had struck out his legs for the final push, almost tore a muscle at the helpless jerk they gave. He cursed and glared at the blond, who was grinning unabashedly in his direction. To Jon’s horror, he had more weights and was pushing like it was nothing. Fucking show off.

“Yeah…so?”

Jaime laughed. “My goodness, Jon Snow. You don’t have to be so obvious with your jealousy.”

Jon sputtered; his features reddening at the insinuation. “Who says I’m jealous-?”

“Over some old lady?” came the merciless taunt. “Who knew you were into the cougar scene after all?”

Jon took a deep breath. He wasn’t going to engage with Jaime today. The older man was clearly trying to rattle him and now –

“She’s not what she seems you know,” Jaime suddenly stated, causing Jon – who was just ready to get off the bench – to remain glued to it. He desperately tried not to look interested but was failing miserably as he felt his pulses quicken for a whole other reason.

Jaime, for his part, wasn’t even looking at him. There was a frown of contemplation on his chiseled features, and Jon couldn’t help wondering if Jaime had noticed what he had seen the other night as well.

“There were only rumors,” Jaime continued as if Jon wasn’t even there anymore. “And I had wondered why she’d choose to live in that particular house. However, from the brief conversation we had, it was clear that she _really_ is of Targaryen blood. Fascinating, isn’t it?”

“Wait…she…she actually _spoke_ to you?” Jon asked incredulously.

Jaime smirked. “If I said ‘yes’, would that make you more frustrated? Calm down, Jon. She didn’t speak. She used that board of hers…and sign language.”

Jon blinked in confusion. “Sign language?”

“She often gets tired of writing all the time, so she uses sign language to communicate.” Jaime eyed him. “You don’t know this? Haven’t you been there twice?”

“How the fuck do you know that? Do you keep tabs on all my visits?”

“Just for this one,” Jaime flashed his perfect teeth in a grin. “Just like you, she intrigues me, especially considering that bogus lie about the woman in the portrait being her mother. Anyone can tell it’s actually her.”

 _I knew it!_ Jon could have leaped for joy at Jaime’s deduction matching his, but he kept it to himself.

“Well…does it matter?”

“The portrait is fairly recent,” Jaime stated, causing Jon to blink in confusion.

“What do you mean fairly recent?”

The Lannister rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Did you bother looking at the artist’s signature? Don’t be fooled by the costume she’s wearing. Yes, it looks like something her mother would have worn, but that portrait was painted only six years ago. She must have been seventeen or eighteen at the time. You do the math.”

Jon frowned in thought. Doing the math would only make her about his age – twenty-four or twenty-five. Dear gods…all this time he had assumed…

He felt his knees getting weak, and he struggled not to show how much this news affected him. However, he had to pull the brakes as this was all speculation on Jaime’s part. There was no guarantee he wasn’t making shit up just to mess with him.

“Look, I don’t care if she’s twenty or a hundred,” Jon forced himself to say despite the thudding of his heart. “She’s still a client.”

“You’re exactly right, and she should be treated as such,” Jaime agreed with a mock salute. “Besides, those dogs of hers terrify me.”

Jon resisted the urge to burst into laughter at that mental image of the malamutes gnawing on Jaime. He would latch on to that image as he found an open elliptical and imagined how good Jaime would taste…especially to Drogon.

“Come join us for drinks,” Theon invited once the five of them were outside and ready to head home. Renly and Loras had apparently made-up, and Jon was sure they might have fucked in the locker rooms, since both had that glow about them, but it was none of his business and he was tired.

“Can’t. Not tonight, sorry.”

“Aww, don’t be such a party pooper,” Renly cajoled; hand tucked possessively in the back pocket of Loras’s jeans. “When was the last time we top guys went out on a boys’ night out, huh?”

“He’s right,” Jaime agreed with a smile. “It’s a rarity that we’re all off on the same night, so why don’t we grab a few beers and make the most of it, hmm? I’m paying.”

“All right!” Theon hooted and before long, Jon found himself stuck in the back seat of Jaime’s convertible with Theon, some high-as-a-kite redhead, and two giggling brunettes sucking on what looked like gummy candies. With a sigh of weary resignation, Jon dug into his jacket to pull out his cell phone. The least he could do was let his sister know where he would be for the rest of the night.

_Sorry. I’ll be home late, Arya. Love you._

 

* * *

 

She would request for him a week later, and despite having three other women technically before her, Jon begged for Tyrion to schedule things around, so he could be with Dany first. Tyrion, gratefully, had not questioned his motives for this and obliged (after all, as long as he got his commission, what did he care about Jon’s scheduling).  Now armed with the information Jaime had given him at the gym, Jon felt himself ready to ‘confront’ her this time.

In the days leading up to their meeting, Arya had watched him with a knowing smirk as he returned from a trip to the bookstore lugging books about learning sign language. There was even a helpful online course that guaranteed he could learn the basics in just twenty-four hours. So, between watching the videos while he worked out, or took Ghost for a jog – where his poor pooch must have been wondering why his master was making all those weird hand gestures -  or practicing in front of the mirror as often as possible, Jon did his best to get used to this new way of ‘speaking’.

He knew he was by no means an expert, but he was now familiar with the basics and had even practiced with Arya for some time.

“No, no, that’s not ‘thank you’,” she had chided him when his fingers covered his mouth, as if about to blow a kiss instead of gently caressing his lower lip and then moving them in an outward gesture. “It’s like this. And remember no puckering of the lips unless you know her intimately, and don’t forget to smile.”

“Have you been reading my books?” he protested causing her to laugh.

“Well, they are all over the goddamn place, so I might as well. You’re not very good at hiding shit, Jon.”

Point taken.

Unfortunately, Dany had not taken him up on the offer for an all-day visit, so he was back to 45 King’s Gate at seven in the evening. He was welcomed by his three furry friends, who led him straight to the kitchen where Dany had left instructions as usual. He stole a quick peek into the living room, but she was not downstairs yet apparently. Hence, with heart in his throat – and sincerely praying she wouldn’t catch him in the act – he walked closer to the portrait; his features burning as he felt those striking violet eyes watching his every move. Sure enough, just as Jaime had said, the date was scribbled right there at the bottom. It was hard to make out the artist’s name, but there was no mistaking the year.

_So, my hunch was right after all._

And that hunch was seen in the motion of her hands. Yes, they were hidden within gloves, but it was the dexterity and strength in them that had given away her age. It wasn’t to say that older women weren’t capable of exhibiting the same thing, but after dealing with women in their fifties and above, you got to see the little things that gave away their decreasing motor skills. If Dany was _truly_ a senior citizen, he would have caught her dropping the chalk or the board more often. She wouldn’t be able to maneuver her wheelchair around so easily especially the non-motorized one. She would have a little more trouble being able to adjust the brakes, for those things could be a bitch to move around and her strength was clearly evident with each motion.

So, there was one mystery solved at least. However, he was now _dying_ to know why she felt the need to shield herself with so much clothing. Did she have an aversion to bright lights in general? And why could he never visit during the daytime?

Once he had set her meal of braised mango chicken with rice and the peach roses (per request – light on the powdered sugar), her gift for tonight was a single pink rose in a vase. He rang the bell and let himself out, not before feeding the dogs as well. From the way they had hovered around him, he took the hint that they hadn’t had supper yet.

He took a walk outside again, this time strolling through the thicket of trees and onto the wooden pier leading to the lake. He wasn’t surprised to find that the motorboat needed repair, and the pier itself was not so stable. As beautiful as it was to look out to the shimmering ripples of water akin to liquid silk, Jon couldn’t risk ending up inside it. He gingerly made his way back to solid land and was met with Drogon, Viserion, and Rhaegal, who wanted to play a late evening game of fetch.

“Hah,” he laughed as he tugged the frisbee out of Drogon’s powerful jaws. “Guess you fellas need to work out the food, eh? All right! Let’s go!”

Dealing with one dog, like Ghost, was exhausting – but the three of them at once? Jon’s shirt was sticking to his back with sweat by the time he was done being chased around the backyard. Breathless and exhilarated by the mini-workout, he and the dogs bound into the kitchen, where they began barking in excitement. It would take him a moment to realize that they weren’t barking at him, but at the woman who was caught in the middle of helping herself to another peach rose from the tray he had left on the kitchen counter.

Both froze – Jon in midstride, and Dany with her hand still extended toward the dessert. The very air within the room, once warm, now felt several degrees hotter.  It shouldn’t have been such an odd sight, all things considered, but it was just _how_ she appeared that had something fluttering within the pit of his stomach. Jon was sure that the very act of breathing was becoming difficult.

_Oh, dear gods. Her…her eyes. They are-_

The tense moment was disrupted as the plate she was holding clattered to the floor in a thunderous crash. Before Jon could say a word, she was wheeling herself out of the kitchen so fast, she almost banged into the door in her haste.

Panic and desperation finally forced him to move. “Dany, wait! Wait, please!”

The dogs immediately blocked his path, and though they were still friendly, their low warning growls were a reminder that they were ready to defend their distressed mother no matter how nice a human he was.

“Okay, I get it,” he whispered as he stooped to his haunches to pick up the broken pieces. “I’ll behave, okay, fellas?”

Viserion licked him, as if accepting his apology and understanding the tumultuous emotions he was going through, before trotting after his brothers who had followed their mother.

Jon would eventually realize he was shaking as he tossed the shattered ceramic into the garbage disposal. He was so distraught, he had to clutch the sink to gather himself. It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t as if he had sensed or noticed her in the kitchen. He had been too preoccupied with the dogs, and if he had known she was in there - _with her sunglasses and mask off_ – goodness knows he would have remained outdoors and respected her wishes.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck!_

Could he have just one night without doing something to get her upset?

Yet, as he cleaned up, every fiber of his being still thrummed at the memory of seeing her _face_ for the first time.

_Especially those eyes._

They were still just as vibrant and as striking as they were in the portrait. Eyes that could be warm yet light up with mischief; eyes that spoke of so many hidden secrets he would love to uncover. It was the same with her lips. Hadn’t he once thought they were meant to be kissed? And seeing them, without the mask, was more than he could have hoped for. They were still as pink, plump, and slightly pouty, though they had fallen into a silent O of shock at his sudden appearance. Her dismay aside, she was young and except for her skin being quite pale, there had been no visible blemish he could see to cause her to shield that face from the rest of the world. He moaned as his stomach clenched tight with a nervousness he had not felt since…hell, since he gave up his virginity.

_This could be a problem, Jon Snow. So, you really need to get your shit together and fast._

By the time he was done clearing up the kitchen, he felt he was more or less composed. It was unprofessional of him to act this way, and he braced himself to apologize for making her uncomfortable with his thoughtlessness. He fully expected to see a note at the kitchen door telling him to leave immediately but was cautiously pleased to find only Rhaegal waiting to escort him to the living room. Ruffling the dog’s head in gratitude, Jon took a deep breath as they approached and wiped his palms against his slacks nervously.

Dany was watching T.V. again with the sunglasses and face mask back in place. This time it was an action movie with a lot of gratuitous explosions. She said nothing as he took his place in the love seat, and he was quick to notice the book she must have been reading earlier placed on the side stool. _The Fall of Empires_ was its title, and Jon could almost laugh at the irony of it all.

After five nerve-wracking minutes of silence broken only by the sounds of machine guns and more explosions – something that had the dogs riveted – Jon cleared his throat and tried to make amends.

“Dany?” he called out hesitantly. She did not turn, and he felt the stirrings of frustration and anxiety filling his heart. How upset was she? She hadn’t kicked him out yet, so -

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I had no idea…”

 _Your sign language,_ Arya’s voice suddenly filled his mind. _Use it, Jon._

_Right._

He sat up a bit straighter and hoping he didn’t look ridiculous, he began to speak and move his hands as carefully as he could. He formed the A with his fingers, made a fist of sorts, and rubbing it against his chest, he made a series of clockwise motions.

“Dany,” he tried again. “I…am…sorry.”

She turned then, and he could see the slight raise of her brow in surprise. Jon smiled a little and struggled to remember the other sentences he had learned.

“Uum…I…messed up…sorry.”

For a moment, it looked as if she wouldn’t react, when suddenly her black gloved hands flew up and began to move so fast in a series of signs, it was difficult to keep up. She pointed to her face, down to her chest, back to her face, lips and finally finished with a slam of a fist on her palm. She cocked her head to the side and studied him as if waiting for him to interpret all she had just said.

“Fuck me,” he groaned and slapped his forehead. “You’ve got to go easy, Dany. I just started learning it.”

She shook her head and picked up her board to write. WHO TOLD YOU?

“Jaime,” Jon confessed. There was no need lying about it.

YOU TALK ABOUT YOUR CLIENTS?

Jon shook his head quickly. “It’s not like that. We…well sometimes, but it’s not as if we go about comparing notes or anything. He just told me it’s something you do because you get tired of writing, so I figured I’d learn how to do sign language too. Look, I’m just really sorry…”

She held up her hand to silence him and wrote again. STOP. IT’S NOT YOUR FAULT. I BLAME IT ON THE PEACH ROSES.

Jon raised a brow, but when he noticed her lips moving beneath the mask, he relaxed a little. She was making a joke.

I MAKE YOU WORRIED.

“I don’t want to make you upset. My job is to please you…in any way I can.”

She lowered the board and erased the words a bit slower. She seemed to come to a decision as she nodded to herself.

I CAN TEACH YOU.

“Huh?”

SIGN LANGUAGE TO COMMUNICATE WITH ME.

Jon grinned. “That’s great. I’m a quick learner.”

She made the ‘ok’ sign and he reciprocated with his. “Oh, and by the way,” Jon added. “I figured out what _‘kirimvose’_ means.”

She titled her head a little.

“It’s High Valyrian for ‘Thank You’, isn’t it?” Jon replied and brought out his phone. “Did a translator thing on the phone when I left. Sorry, I cheated.”

She waved her hand as if brushing him off and then playfully slapped her hands on either side of her face as if ‘shocked’ at his admission of cheating. Jon was powerless to stop the laughter to burst out of him, and he marveled at how this woman was able to wring out so many different emotions within him in one night.

I SHOULD TEACH YOU HIGH VALYRIAN TOO.

Jon chuckled. “Yeah, that would be tricky considering you can’t speak…” And immediately he said that, he mentally kicked himself for being insensitive. He winced and prepared to apologize again, when she held up the board.

I HAVE TAPES YOU CAN LISTEN TO. EVEN IF I CAN’T SPEAK, IT MAKES NO DIFFERENCE.

He nodded in gratitude. “Thank you…you really don’t have to-”

She placed her finger against her lips and pointed to the television. He didn’t need a translator for that.

To be honest, the movie was boring as hell, so he took the opportunity to study her as discreetly as possible.

_Yes, she’s definitely of royal blood…or at least there’s no mistaking her ancestry._

It was her profile; the way she held herself up subconsciously. Sure there were the bashful moments, and when she had shied away from the light, but when she wasn’t revealing those vulnerable sides, Dany’s aristocratic roots were evident in the quiet poise and aura that seemed to surround her like a second skin.

 _I want to see that face again…those beautiful eyes,_ he thought with a longing that was worrisome under normal circumstances. However, he had come to accept that being in this house, with this woman, and in this situation, was anything but normal. He was simply going to go with the flow. _I want to see them again…please, Dany. I wish you wouldn’t hide from me…_

She must have finally sensed him watching because she turned to him, her brows furrowing.

WHAT IS WRONG?

_Say it, Jon. Just say it, and if she kicks you out, then so be it._

“Your eyes,” he finally said in a voice that sounded rough and slightly breathless. “I would love to see them again. Even if its just for a moment.”

She seemed to flinch at this, and she began shaking her head in refusal.

“Dany,” he cajoled as he leaned forward. “I’ve already seen them one time, and no one died in the process. I mean my heart might have skipped a beat at how beautiful they are, but that’s just me. Please…even if it’s only for tonight, could you take those off, so I could see them again?”

Her hands formed tight fists on her lap, and Jon watched in growing concern as she began to tremble. Soon, she began to rock back and forth slowly, a low moan of pain escaping her lips. Jon realized she was probably going through a traumatic recollection of some sort, and it was a harsh reminder of the same thing Arya went through on some nights.

His sister was prone to having nightmares; nightmares that would cause her to scream or be found shaking like a leaf in bed drenched in sweat. Jon had spent those nights cradling her to sleep, but he doubted Dany would want anyone touching her at this time. He felt extremely powerless and wished he could do _something_ to ease her ache.

“Dany…Dany, are you still here?” He knelt at her feet and to his dismay, noticed the dampness forming at the top of the mask. She was crying.

“Oh, dear gods,” he whispered in horror. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to get you upset. Do you want me to get you anything or just leave? I’ll…”

She grabbed her chalk and began writing feverishly on the board. When she was done, her trembling hands could barely hold it up.

MISSANDEI – CALL HER AT THIS # 614 8732

Without querying for details, Jon nodded quickly and did as told.

It took about five rings before the crisp female voice filled his ear. “Hello? Missandei here.”

He couldn’t make out her accent, but it sounded lovely. “Uh, this is Jon Snow,” he replied with his eyes still trained on Dany, who was calming down, thanks to her babies surrounding the chair to nuzzle or lick her hands and face in comfort. “I am with Dany Storm at the moment.”

“You are the escort?”

 _Geez, why does she make it sound like I’m a creep?_ “Yes, that’s me,” he said with a strained smile. “She wants to see you.”

Missandei, obviously, didn’t need to be told that twice. “I’m on my way.”

Jon slipped the phone into his pocket and expelled a breath. If this Missandei was a personal nurse or something of the sort, then that was good. He would have recommended she sleep in the house with Dany, but who was he to question their relationship?

I AM SORRY.

Jon looked at the words in surprise. What was she apologizing for? If he hadn’t been so desperate to fulfill his personal and selfish request, none of this would have happened.

I FRIGHTENED YOU.

“No more than some other things in my life,” Jon said with a reassuring smile. He sat beside her again. “I just want you to be okay. That’s all.”

She nodded softly and then wrote again. YOUR ACCENT.

“What about it?”

GETS THICKER WHEN YOU ARE STRESSED.

Jon chuckled and blushed in embarrassment. “It’s why I try not to get too stressed out on the job. Women will eventually give up trying to understand what I’m saying.”

I LIKE IT. NORTHERN.

A weird warmth filled Jon at that and he shifted uncomfortably. There was that nervous sensation again. He might have said something when the buzz of the intercom caused them to jump in surprise.

“It’s Missandei,” came the voice, and Jon glanced at his watch in surprise. Either the woman lived next door, or she had sped like a madwoman over here. All the same, he was impressed and even more so, when she walked into the house looking as if she owned it.

With her caramel-hued skin and shoulder-length curly brown hair, Missandei could rival any of the models he had seen and been with. Her beautiful, exotic features told of a heritage far from Westeros, and though clad in a black overcoat, it wasn’t hard to see how great her figure was. The dogs yipped in delight at the sight of her, and she lavished each one with attention before making her way into the living room. Hardly glancing at Jon, she fell to her knees before the wheelchair and to Jon’s surprise, reached out to clasp Dany’s hands gently.

_So, she does allow herself to be touched!_

Dany squeezed back and rest her forehead against Missandei’s in a non-verbal and such intimate gesture of trust; Jon felt as if he was intruding. Both women did not speak for a while, but eventually, Dany was the first to pull away, but only to release her hands to sign to her friend. Jon thought he was able to catch a few of the gestures, but both women were going too fast for him to keep up. All the same, he was sure they were talking about him because they both looked in his direction.

Missandei now took full notice of his presence and seemed to examine him from head to foot. Once done with her inspection, a slight smirk formed on her lips and she turned to Dany to speak with her hands again. Dany made a low sound and shook her head quickly in denial about something before continuing their silent conversation. She appeared agitated for some reason. Jon, now feeling that it was best he just leave the women alone, was stumped when Missandei suddenly rose to her feet and faced him.

“She apologizes for having to cut the visit short,” she stated in that accent he still couldn’t quite place. “but she’s every tired and wishes to call it a night.”

“Oh, I completely understand,” Jon replied quickly, while rising to his feet.

He began making his way out the room but stopped at the archway briefly. This time he addressed Dany, who was now watching him. “Thanks for having me over again, and I’m sorry if I did anything to upset you…what am I saying? I _did_ upset you, but trust me, it wasn’t intentional. So…eh…believe me when I say I’ll understand if you never wish to see me again.”

 _It will suck,_ he wanted to add, but he settled for giving both ladies a quick bow, ruffled the heads of the malamutes, and let himself out of a home he realized he was getting too familiar (and comfortable) with. Hell, even the heat wasn’t much of a factor anymore. Either he was now used to it, or she had taken a hint and turned down the temperature.

However, once in the car, and just as he started to turn the ignition, he was struck by a sudden wave of weariness and nausea. The world seemed to spin for a breathless second, and with a low groan, he rested his forehead against the steering wheel and closed his eyes to gather himself.

_Breathe, Jon. Just…breathe…_

Deep within, he felt the stirrings of concern beginning to form; considering his reaction now and the one he had gone through in the kitchen after seeing Dany’s face.

_It’s coming back…_

So much for all those two-hundred-gold-dragons-an-hour therapy sessions Cersei had shoved down his throat.

He had experienced such moments before, and they usually occurred after going through a really stressful experience. His first ‘attack’ happened after hearing about the death of his family, and since then, the moments would occur somewhat infrequently. It usually took a lot to get his stress or anxiety levels to the point of finding himself gasping for breath.

He couldn’t say if the therapy sessions had helped get him through most of his attacks, but he did know Maester Cressen was a genius with Arya. His sister had, naturally, balked at the idea of seeing a head shrink, but after one too many nights of screams and tremors, both agreed it would be best she get the help she needed.

“You as well, Jon,” Cressen had said in concern, when Jon declined yet another session with him. “Your line of work cannot be easy on your mental state of mind. You must get emotionally drained having to please so many women with no concern for your own happiness. I’d recommend increasing our sessions to four hours a week…for now. You have my number. Call me.”

 _Four hours?_ Who the hell had four hours to spend sitting on some couch, rambling on about stuff, with some old man just sitting across you nodding and scribbling bullshit on his notepad?

 _But you can’t deny he did help you, especially in those early days,_ Jon thought with an inner sigh. _All those tips to keep calm and collected has kept you in the game so far._

Until now. Until Dany.

She was exhausting and a challenge. Anyone in his position would beg to be let off this client or job, yet the thought of never seeing her again caused his stomach to tie up in knots. Perhaps it was that inherent pride or ego of his talking; that need to say he achieved something as significant as breaking Dany out of her shell. That would be a monumental accomplishment.

He couldn’t say for sure if his theories were correct, but she was clearly exhibiting signs of someone who had gone through a really dark experience and was yet to overcome the trauma. Her need to be covered, her fear of bright lights, her inability to talk or walk…just _what_ must have happened to the beautiful woman who had posed for an artist only six years ago? What sort of mental, physical, and emotional damage did she go through to become this way?

Yet beneath the skittish veneer of reclusion, the _real_ Dany would peek through with her cheeky sense of humor, hints of mischief, a sharp wit, and one who wasn’t averse to watching crappy action movies or classic comedies. She loved good food, including her desserts, loved flowers, liked to laugh – and boy, wouldn’t he give anything to hear its full sound – and adored her dogs. _That_ was the Dany he wanted to see more of. _That_ was the Dany he would probably sacrifice a few more clients just to spend more time in her company.

He sighed and lifted his lashes. If she asked for him again – and that was a big ‘if’ – what could he do to switch things up? Just cook and then sit there and don’t ask any questions? She had promised to teach him sign language and High Valyrian, so that was good, but what else? There had to be more he could do to –

**Knock. Knock.**

Jon nearly jumped out of his skin and with widened eyes looked up to see Missandei staring at him with bemusement. He lowered the window with a weak smile. He should have been long gone by now.

“Is your car not working?” Missandei queried.

Jon looked sheepish. “No, I was just…resting for a bit. It’s been a long day.”

She studied him for a moment longer; her eyes dark and inscrutable. Finally, she sighed and ran her fingers through her hair. “Do you know where Hot Pie’s restaurant is?”

“Yeah?”

“Meet me there,” she invited with a small smile. “And maybe I can tell you a little more about the woman you’re so curious about.”

 

 

 


	5. The Puzzle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to @annagreengrass for the lovely gift header/moodboard! :D
> 
> And here it is, where questions are answered and answers are questioned.  
> I hope you enjoy it, and as always your wonderful feedback and encouragement is always appreciated.  
> P.S: Dany's POV will be next!

Hot Pie’s restaurant, named after its owner, was a favorite eatery for those not wealthy enough to afford the fancier establishments in King’s Landing. Set in a once abandoned inn just outside The Old Gate, it’s exterior structure wasn’t likely to be on the pages of the next architectural magazine for it looked bleak and misshapen thanks to its trademark titling roof, stove pipe chimney, and moss-ridden walls. Its interior was no better, since it still retained most of its original wooden panels and moldings dating back to the last century. Fortunately, all that was overshadowed by the gaiety, camaraderie, and warmth amongst the patrons that frequented it often.

It was a universal consensus; Hot Pie was the _best_ cook in Westeros. Who needed to shell over fifty gold dragons for some burger elsewhere, when Hot Pie’s could leave you licking your fingers for a few measly coppers? His menu consisted of traditional Westerosi dishes that were easy to make yet so delicious, your taste buds danced a jig just at the very thought of them. It wasn’t unusual to find lines forming down the road just to get a seat, and it was a 24-hour juggernaut; its doors never closing for even the latest or earliest of customers just dying to get a bite.

Jon knew the food here was a sinful decadence especially in his quest to maintain a healthy diet, but damn it, after Tormund’s ‘mistake’ of bringing him here a few years ago, Jon was powerless to stopping by at least once a week to spoil himself. Arya had fallen in love with the restaurant as well, and she was even now friends with the stout, cheery-faced owner, who was barely older than she was. For someone born into poverty, and turning his luck around to become an entrepreneur, his was an inspiring story. Sadly, Hot Pie was so loyal to his roots, he felt no need to open franchises around the country despite interest from investors. He loved nothing more than sweating behind the stove, preparing his meals from scratch, and sometimes serving when he was in the mood. It was why he was so beloved amongst the small folk.

Missandei was already waiting when Jon – after having some trouble finding a parking spot – jogged up to meet her. It was almost eleven on a Thursday evening, and the place was still brimming with customers.

“Do you want to sit outside?” Missandei offered as she craned her neck around to see if there were any empty outdoor spots available. Not that there were many in the first place. The five tables were currently occupied, but it appeared one of the couples was finally finishing up.

“Sure. Why not?” Jon replied. He snapped his fingers to the busy waitress and motioned they would be taking the table next.

“Seems like it’s pretty noisy in there anyway,” Jon observed as he sank his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Looks like a soccer match is on…you know how it gets.”

Missandei nodded. “Hmm. Don’t you like watching soccer?”

Jon’s lips quirked upwards. “I do, but my team isn’t playing tonight. Although, I wouldn’t mind knowing the scores. I think whoever wins this match plays my team next.”

“And what team is that?”

“The Winterfell Wolverines.”

“I see.”

Jon gave a slight smirk at the polite tone. “You don’t give a shit about soccer, do you?”

Missandei gave her first real smile of the evening. “No, I don’t. It is popular in my native country of Naath, but I was never interested. My brothers on the other hand were fanatics. Ah, our table is ready.”

Moving quickly, he helped her into a chair and then sat across her. She confessed it was only her second time coming here as they scanned the menu, and she asked for Jon’s opinion on what else she could order that wouldn’t be too heavy for a late-night meal. He recommended the roasted duck breast with plum sauce to be washed down with sparkling mineral water. She acquiesced with a tease that if her stomach complained, she would hunt him down.

Jon couldn’t help laughing at that teasing threat, now vaguely aware of what Missandei was doing. She was putting him at ease. If she was an actual nurse or psychiatrist or something along those lines, she must have sensed his trepidation and nervous energy earlier. Silently, he thanked her empathy and not harping on his moment of weakness. Instead, she chose to speak of inane things like how the bugs were too loud and how the scenery around Hot Pie’s was anything but scenic. It was only a lonesome asphalt road, some open space turned into a parking lot, and surrounded by woodland as far as the eye could see. She wouldn’t be the least surprised if they were attacked by foxes since their table was dangerously close to the bushes.

Between trying not to choke with laughter at her light quips, and keeping a straight face, Jon would manage to sneak in queries about Naath after their food arrived. He was yet to visit that country and had heard quite fascinating things about it. She obliged his curiosity and didn’t seem too bothered at his polite questions about her homeland. It was clear she missed it, for every once in a while, her features and voice would get wistful. Jon wondered how long she had been away from home-

“All the same, this isn’t about me,” she remarked as she shamelessly licked off the last of the plum sauce from her spoon. “Goodness, that _was_ delicious. You were right!”

Jon grinned. “Told you.”

The Naathi chuckled and pushed away her plate. “Indeed. However, as I was saying, this isn’t about me. You’ve been dying to know about Dany, yes?”

At the sound of her name, the memories from earlier in the evening came flooding back. Jon bought some time by taking a longer sip from his beverage, hoping his trembling hand wouldn’t be too evident. Besides, Missandei was now pinning him with that intense stare that could be disconcerting.

_She’s trying to get a read on me. Should she reveal all or hold back just enough?_

It would be easy to fall into the charm routine and try to sweettalk the whole truth from the other woman, but Jon was sure none of those tricks would work with her. This wasn’t a situation that called for his shallower escort instincts. If he was to know what made Dany tick, and to make any possible future meetings more successful, he had to know _how_ to deal with her. Missandei was the key to solving the puzzle.

“Don’t worry,” she began with a small smile. “If you’re wondering if she’s given me permission to spill her innermost secrets, I can only reveal so much. If she wishes to tell you more, she’ll do so in her own time.”

She waited until the waitress had cleared their plates, before resting her elbows on the table and clasping her hands beneath her chin. There was a light frown of concentration on her beautiful features now; her mocha eyes unrelenting as they held his prisoner.

“Please bear in mind that all I say to you is strictly confidential and not to be shared amongst your fellow escorts. I have no doubt your bosses at the agency might have already done their homework when it comes to Dany, but they had signed NDAs I believe, and short of making you sign one as well, I will have to take your word that you won’t go about blabbing this to anyone else? Yes, Mr. Snow?”

Jon made a motion of zipping his lips, though he stole a surreptitious glance at the customers around them. It was less noisy now, and the table closest to them had a couple too enamored with each other to pay attention to anyone else.

“Good,” Missandei began quietly. “What you should understand is that Dany and I are, first and foremost, friends. In fact, I consider her as a sister, and have always thought of her as such from the moment I had the pleasure of knowing her when she lived in Essos-”

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” Jon said with a puzzled frown. “But we…I mean she told me she was a Targaryen, and from all we know, Targaryens should be extinct. You mean to tell me she’s been living in Essos all this time? By herself? Why? With who-?”

“Slow down, Mr. Snow,” Missandei said with a wave of her hand. “One question at a time.”

Jon blushed at the reprimand but settled back in his chair to listen.

“Yes, it’s true that the Targaryens were supposedly assassinated during their vacation in Myr. My research read and saw all the brouhaha made over it. There was such extensive coverage on all the major media outlets at the time. Truly a shocking and tragic event, wasn’t it? Fortunately, what they didn’t tell you is that Rhaella, Dany’s mother - who was pregnant with Dany at the time - was not in the manse that fateful night. She, along with her son, Viserys, were in a family friend’s home at the time. So, the assassins, who were either too sloppy or desperate to get the job done quickly, set the manse ablaze with only Aerys and Rhaeger in it.”

She paused as she noticed Jon’s bemused frown again. She smiled and nodded in understanding. “Yes, you wonder why the bodies weren’t tallied to see that the other half of the family was missing, but according to the reports, the fire was uncontrollable for a while, and it just about eviscerated the entire neighborhood. Other lives were lost, so keeping count of whose body belonged to whom was not of great importance. A fortunate break if you ask me. Anyway, in the midst of the chaos, Rhaella and Viserys, thanks to their family friend, were snuck out of Myr and sent back to Westeros. The thinking was that no one would guess to search for them there. However, there was no way they could return to Dragonstone. Whoever was out to get them would have discovered they were still alive and…” She made a slicing motion across her neck. Jon nodded in understanding.

“This is where the house comes in-”

“The mansion she lives in now?” Jon asked.

Missandei agreed with a slight tilt of her head. “While the media and historians wailed about the extinction of House Targaryen, they had forgotten there was a Targaryen _still_ living and breathing in Westeros. His name was Aemon, and he was the owner of the mansion, which was small and insignificant compared to all the other grand homes or castles the Targaryens owned around the realm. Is it any wonder he was hardly talked about? I won’t bore you with the particulars of the family dynamics, but Aemon’s fate was to be ‘cast aside’, so to speak, and he was forced to live away from all the drama to befall his beloved House. He became a maester, and a great one, but as time went by, the people of Westeros forgot who he _truly_ was and simply regarded him as an old man with too many crazy ideas. He would eventually go blind, become a recluse, and rely on only a handful of trusted people to care for him.

“However, if Westeros had forgotten who Aemon was, Rhaella sure hadn’t. For her, and her children, Aemon was a gift from the gods. The poor woman went into labor right at his doorstep that night but would only live long enough to hear her daughter’s lustful cry of arrival to the world.”

Jon winced; his chest tightening with an inexplicable emotion. He had never known his real mother, as she had passed away in childbirth as well, but did Dany - in some way - still carry the guilt of Rhaella’s death? It wasn’t her fault things had turned out that way, but he mentally kicked himself for even thinking such a thing. For all he knew, Dany was perfectly fine with that knowledge.

 _Unlike you, Jon,_ came the whispered taunt within him. _You wear your guilt like an armor, don’t you? Shouldn’t you be doing all you can to get rid of it?_

With an effort, he tore himself away from his tumultuous thoughts to focus on Missandei, who was unaware of his current state of mind.

“Aemon,” she continued. “despite his physical state, was all too happy to take the children under his wing and raise them the best he could. I know this, for he kept copious and detailed records of everything in his private den. So, what I tell you now is his recollection of his time with them. For the most part, the children grew up relatively normal…well, except for being exposed to the outside world. They could never leave the mansion, and even if they did have to go outside to play around the grounds, they were almost always incognito…for their protection. Their heads had to be covered at all times – after all those tell-tale hairs of silver were dead giveaways, right? They had to wear clothing that covered them completely, and sometimes wear masks so no prying neighbors or wandering airplanes, with curious photographers, could see what they truly looked like. Aemon wasn’t taking any chances. His dearest Rhaella had begged him to protect her children, and by the gods, he was going to keep his promise. They had to become ‘invisible’, and I guess you can already begin to see where that particular behavior stemmed from.”

She took a sip of her mineral water; her features now taut with sadness. “The way Aemon writes it, he tries to paint a picture of children who adapted to their way of life just fine. They were homeschooled and quite brilliant; Dany already able to read books way more advanced than her years. She also enjoyed the Arts, painting, sketching, the whole thing. She could also play the piano, and she especially loved putting on singing and dancing shows for her uncle even if he couldn’t see a damn thing. As for Viserys, he was more prone to burying his nose in history books and playing war games.

“But for all their intellectual abilities…can you imagine a life not being able to connect with _other_ children? To have no girl friends to speak to on the phone or go visit for sleepovers or participate in school activities like normal children? Only having a brother who didn’t exactly seem to be the most positive of influences? Especially when he had the gall to take her vir-”

She paused, but Jon already knew what she meant. He was unaware of his clenching fists as he struggled against picturing the brother and sister engaged in the same taboo act as Cersei and Jaime. Only instead of images of shared passion, he pictured a sobbing young girl unable to comprehend what was happening to her.

_Damn it…_

“She did her best to look beyond the ‘oddity’ of her life and tried to make lemonade out of the piles of lemons before her. Unfortunately, it seemed as if the gods were determined to punish her for her ancestors’ sins, because she was eventually struck with an affliction that had affected her mother. You see, Rhaella was quite sickly; often prone to viral infections and illnesses which caused her to lose so many children at childbirth. It was a miracle to even have Rhaeger and Viserys without any complications, but Dany…perhaps due to all the stress, trauma, and also inheriting her mother’s genes…whatever it was, one day – around the age of thirteen – Dany says she was only walking downstairs when her legs gave way…like jelly, she describes it.”

“Was it just dizziness, being tired…what?” Jon prodded.

“She thought it was the same thing. She was probably just tired, but when it kept happening at random times – for no apparent reason – she had to be confined to a wheelchair for her safety. Being a learned maester, Aemon did his best to understand what was wrong. He was fearful of taking her to the hospital, for obvious reasons, and so relied on home treatments. According to his notes, he changed her diet assuming it had something to do with being hypotensive – that’s low blood pressure – made her do some lower extremity exercises to strengthen the weakening muscles and managed to get some medication. Nothing worked.

“Personally, I’m furious Aemon didn’t throw caution to the wind and take her to get other professional help. Perhaps the root cause might have been discovered in time and controlled, but I guess we’ll never know. All the same, with Aemon’s encouragement, she continued to keep a positive outlook on her life. She was sure her affliction would pass as she got older, since studies showed it was a rare condition that usually resolved itself. Unfortunately, after nearly cracking her skull one day, because she was sure she could walk without assistance, she made up her mind to never attempt it again. The wheelchair became her refuge and safety net.”

Missandei sighed. “Aemon, the gods bless him, did all he could for her, but he had become too old…too weak…and two days after her sixteenth birthday, he passed away in his sleep. To say she was devastated would be an understatement. Being around and looking after her great-great-great uncle was one of the few pleasures of her life, and with his death, there was a huge void left behind. The only person she had received pure love and affection from had left, because the gods know she certainly wasn’t getting any of that from her brother who would eventually do the unthinkable.”

Jon frowned. “What happened? He got her pregnant?”

Missandei shook her head. “No…he forced them to move out of the mansion claiming it had been a prison, and he had always hated it anyway. Remember me saying he was obsessed with history and war games? Well, Viserys’s mindset was now all geared toward revenge. He was determined to punish those who had destroyed his family and hoped to regain the prestige and honor once bestowed upon their House. He sold the mansion to Aemon’s most trusted companion, and with the money, he took them back to Essos. In his quest to seek the best army to begin his foolhardy plan, he would sell Dany – his own sister - to a Dothraki _khal_ for just the right price. This was barely a month after Aemon was laid to rest.”

Jon sat back abruptly; the air sucked out of his lungs. What the fuck was he hearing? The Dothraki? Dany sold like some… _slave_ to those ruthless clan? Seven hells! This all seemed like something out of a fucked-up fantasy tale. This couldn’t be real life, could it?

“You don’t believe me,” Missandei said with a wry smile. “But that was where my life with Dany actually began. You see, I too was a kept slave, but while I was able to live as normal a life as possible, Dany wasn’t given that option. The Dothraki are a proud race and seem to favor those who are able to show vigor and vitality above all else. Their traditional ways are still practiced, and one such practice involved her being able to ride alongside the _khal_ to show her strength. I don’t know how Viserys was able to convince the _khal_ to take her in the first place considering her disposition, but he must have felt he could tame or force Dany to walk again.

“She did her best, Jon. She really did, but after one too many falls off the horse, and tripping over her feet, the whispers and mockery of her being weak and not suitable to be a _khal’s_ wife, spread across the _khalasar_. She was considered an embarrassment, and despite her attempts to blend in with the people and make the most of her fate, the _khal_ could no longer stand her presence…at least in public. So, instead of sending her to the _dosh khaleen_ , which is where widowers of former _khals_ or past wives were kept, or even killing her, he chose to keep her locked in an underground chamber. She would be his unspeakable shame hidden from the rest of the world.”

Jon could barely control his groan of pain.

“Indeed,” Missandei commiserated with a soft nod. “Oh, she could have her handmaidens attend to her every now and then, but otherwise…she was never allowed to see the light of day, watch television, own a cell phone…nothing to keep her connected to the outside world…so to speak.

“Unfortunately, his abuses were not only physical – and I need not explain that to you – but it was mental and emotional. I have no idea why he felt the need to do this, but he seemed to take pleasure in insulting her features and disability, doing all he could to make her feel she was ugly and unworthy of being his bride. Receiving such commentary, almost daily, for five long years really affects your psyche. I hate to consider her dysmorphic – as she’s shown no signs of wanting any physical enhancements – but she became more cautious about her appearance and took to covering her face because she _truly_ believed she was appalling to anyone who saw her.

“And where was Viserys in all of this you ask? The bastard got what was coming to him. He became too cocky with his dealings with the Dothraki underworld and was murdered about a year into Dany’s ordeal. She wouldn’t even learn of his death until a year later.”

“Damn…”

“You can imagine how she felt when she did hear the news. She was – if there was no one else hiding somewhere – now the _last_ Targaryen alive. There is something tragic and lonely about that, and for a while, she made several attempts to rid the world of her presence as well. What was the point of living? She might have loathed Viserys, but he was her only link to a family she once held near and dear to her heart. With him gone, life became meaningless.”

“Is…was that when she stopped speaking?” Jon asked in a barely audible voice.

“Just about,” Missandei agreed. “Being locked away with no human company, for days at a time, is not likely to make you a talker, but after learning of Viserys’s death, she would not speak again. She would write down everything until I forced her to learn sign language to ease the cramps from writing for too long. I also taught her High Valyrian, and we would converse that way most times. We were in that hell for the next two years, but eventually, and by some miracle, we got our freedom thanks to Jorah.”

Jon raised a brow. “Jorah?”

Why did that name sound familiar?

“Jorah Mormont,” Missandei began, only to start at the sudden noise Jon made. She raised a brow. “You know him?”

“Haven’t seen him personally, and it might not even be the same guy,” Jon replied in disbelief. “But his father…his father lived in my old apartment building when I first moved to King’s Landing. It _had_ to be his father. He showed me pictures of his family, and he kept talking about his son who left home years ago and they had never made up…some dispute or something.”

“Hmm...sounds like our Jorah,” Missandei mused with pursed lips. “He was a traveling businessman who was quite familiar with the Dothraki and knew the _khal_ personally. I have no idea how he had learned of Dany’s imprisonment, but he paid a lot of money to get her back.” The lines of sadness flitted on her features again. “She was terrified to come out of there, Jon Snow. And it broke my heart to see her so afraid of the sun…of fresh air…of _Life_ in general. Jorah was more than a godsend. He was patient, gentle, and the best man to help ease her into some semblance of normalcy.”

Jon shifted restlessly in his seat and tried to squash down an emotion he could not and would not acknowledge. “So…he was…I mean…did they…?”

“In an intimate relationship? Who knows? Is he in love with her?” Missandei asked with a small smile. “Any blind man could see that. She would never let him see her face, but it did not stop him from showering his affections without being too overbearing. We would move to Braavos and live there for the next three years until she made the decision to return to Aemon’s mansion. Her happiest memories were there after all, and Jorah was able to purchase it for her.

“But being in Braavos helped immensely to ease her back to being comfortable in the presence of others besides myself and Jorah. It was also where she was given her three children; Drogon, Rhaegal, and Viserion as gifts from a friend of Jorah’s. By now, you can guess why she gave them those names. Although naming Drogon after the man who caused her so much pain…” Missandei sighed. “Perhaps it’s that Syndrome after all; where you find yourself loving those who torture you. He did have his good moments, she would say when I asked, and he could be nice when he wanted to. How warped up is her mental state to believe that even the tiniest of decent gestures from a monster like him, could be considered ‘love’? Hmm?”

She shook her head and toyed with the empty bottle. “Unfortunately, our therapeutic years could only do so much. She’s still sensitive to bright lights, still insists on covering her face, will not speak, and won’t go outdoors unless absolutely necessary. However, she does her best and has come a long way from those days when she’d remain locked in her room for weeks at a time.

“Arriving here did _something_ for her…maybe it truly was that she felt more at ‘home’ at that mansion after all. She became even more open…well as open as she can be all things considered. So, when she told me that she was going to do something ‘bold’ and spoil herself for once, I teased that perhaps she ought to get a male escort to keep her company since Jorah was going to be away for a while. I think it was probably because we both watched a movie about escorts, but yeah, we joked that it was only going to be a one-night experience and that would be the end of it. I did not take it seriously, and I honestly assumed that would be the end of that discussion. Imagine my surprise when I show up the next day, and she’s pointing at The Night’s Watch webpage like a kid in a candy store. ‘I’m doing it, Missandei,’ she told me. ‘These guys would be like robots, right? Just do whatever you ask of them. No pressures, right?’ Can you believe it? Even to this day, she still manages to surprise me,” Missandei chuckled and leaned back on her chair to study him. “You weren’t her first choice though.”

Jon shook his head with a wry smile. “No, I was not.”

“But she says you are a great cook.”

“I aim to please.”

“She says you are a typical Northerner.”

Jon’s brow lifted in amusement. “What does that mean? Has she met a lot of us?”

“Jorah’s from the North, and he sometimes puts his foot in his mouth a lot. You do the same, and she says it’s cute how you blush in embarrassment and start apologizing…though it gets annoying after a while.”

Jon was glad for the relative darkness of their spot, so she was unable to see the flush to suffuse his features. Hadn’t Dany also teased him about his accent? She seemed to get a kick out of embarrassing him, didn’t she?

“But things are different now,” Missandei added with a solemn expression. “You’ve seen her face, and now know the reasons behind her actions. This is the kind of woman you’re dealing with, Jon Snow, and you are now aware of how far you can go with her.”

Jon tapped his fingers restlessly on the table; his mind swirling with all he had heard. “I think so, but…you’re making it sound like she wants me back…?”

“She does.”

Jon might have made a small sound of surprise, but it was nothing compared to the next words out of her mouth.

“For a weekend.”

You could have knocked him over with a feather. In fact, he was sure the world had spun a little.

“Are…are you sure?” he asked cautiously; not daring to hope or assume erroneously. An _entire weekend_ with Dany? Could he survive it?

“Unless you can’t do it,” she began, but Jon was already shaking his head and leaning forward in earnest.

“It’s fine,” he said quickly. “I mean, it shouldn’t be a problem. Has she set up the dates with the agency?”

“Next month…first weekend. Jorah will be returning from his trip later that week.”

“I see. So…is he going to be living with her or…?”

“There are plenty of rooms at the mansion, Jon Snow.”

If Missandei noticed the tightening of his lips at her response, she kept it to herself. Besides, she had a lot to regale to Dany about this intriguing Northerner. There was more to the escort than met the eye.

“So, I think we’re done here,” Missandei announced with a glance at her watch. “It’s just past midnight and my bed is calling. If you tell me your phone number, I’ll text you some more instructions to bear in mind when you get back there. I do live just off King’s Gate road, and usually come in during the day to keep her company.”

“Is it just you or is there any other help?”

“She’s got a groundskeeper who shows up a couple of times during the week. We hire maids to clean on a weekly basis, and I do the rest. Any other questions?”

Jon shook his head and joined her as she rose to her feet. He accepted her firm handshake.

“Thank you,” he began with utmost sincerity. “For telling me all that. I’m not sure I’ll be any better than you and…the others, but I’ll definitely do my best.”

She studied him in that quiet way that could be slightly unnerving, before speaking succinctly. “One thing I will warn you is not to treat her like an invalid, Jon Snow. She is not there to be ‘taken-care-of’ like a patient, do you understand? She is not unable to fend for herself, so whatever she requires or asks of you is all you are to do and no more. Besides, that is your job, isn’t it? To leave your clients happy, yes?”

Jon nodded in agreement even as he felt a nagging dark sensation tugging within him. “Yes, it is,” he said aloud. “That is my job.”

“Excellent. Then I look forward to seeing you in a few weeks. Thanks for a lovely dinner and good night, Mr. Snow.”

And with a  brief smile, she pulled up the collars of her jacket and spun on her heels to fade into the darkness beyond Hot Pie’s sputtering neon lights.

 

* * *

 

The gentle knock on his bedroom door had him lifting his lashes.

“Can I come in?” Arya asked in an exaggerated whisper.

Not waiting for his ‘yay’ or ‘nay’, she tiptoed into the room and slid beneath the covers; barely nudging away Ghost, who was propped in the middle of the large bed like an immobile sentry. The pooch, who had been dozing off, lifted his head to notice the new arrival, before wagging his tail in greeting and going back to burrowing his muzzle within his paws.

“Damn bed hog,” Arya complained good-naturedly; after all she was used to it especially on the nights Jon wasn’t home. She turned to her brother, who had closed his eyes again in feigned repose. She knew he was anything but relaxed, for his entire pose was akin to a bowstring being pulled taut just ready to be released. His hands were clasped beneath his head, and he wasn’t even watching the television where his favorite sports program was being shown. Considering the volume was barely audible anyway –

“What’s wrong?’ she asked as she poked his bearded cheek playfully. “Did you sleep at all last night? You came back pretty late. Didn’t it go well? Did you piss her off again?”

He opened his eyes. “Seven hells, Arya. What are you? A goddamn justice of the peace?”

“Pfft! Forgive me for worrying about my brother,” she huffed and lay on her back with arms crossed before her favorite rock band nightshirt. “Your thinking kept me awake.”

“Hardy har har.”

“Seriously, Jon…what’s wrong?”

He was prepared to dismiss her again, when he noticed her expression. It was that damning mix of concern and admiration that made his heart twist into knots, and he hated to admit that there were times he wished she wouldn’t put him on such a pedestal. He was human with so many flaws, it was a miracle they hadn’t kicked him out of The Night’s Watch by now. Except for Margaery Tyrell, he was able to hide that side of him as effectively as he could. Arya, on the other hand, was _blood_. She knew him inside and out and could call out his bullshit from a mile away. Lying or keeping anything from her was painful enough as it was, but he had promised Missandei not to go rattling off about Dany’s story; a story he _still_ couldn’t get over.

“She wants me to spend a weekend with her,” he finally replied gruffly and turned his gaze back to the art deco-inspired moldings on the ceiling.

“Well, that’s great, isn’t it?” Arya replied as she sat up quickly and tucked her legs beneath her. “Looks like you’ve really made an impression after all. Soooo…why aren’t you thrilled about this again? I thought you’d be coming in singing and jumping around and-”

“She’s my age, Arya.”

Arya blinked in confusion. “Huh? I don’t follow.”

“I saw her face.”

“And what about…oooh…wow…” The enormity of his words finally hit her, and she leaned back on her elbows with an ‘oh-shit’ expression on her visage. “How the fuck did that happen?”

Jon sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. He took a deep breath and told Arya all that had taken place the night before, and as he spoke, he could see every scene as if watching a movie reel right before his eyes. With Missandei’s backstory now hovering in his mind, all of Dany’s reactions and mannerisms became more solidified and tangible in some way. Some might assume that three years would be a long enough time to get over her jitters when it came to revealing herself, but if Dany was still determined to self-heal from her traumas, Jon had done little to help that process with his persistence. To her, he might have sounded like an overbearing asshole, and who knows if Viserys or that _khal_ had done the very same thing to her in the past?

When he finished talking, there was silence broken only by the faint cheers of fans at a game-winning soccer goal on T.V.

“This is…so much to take,” Arya finally said. Her features were dark with thought; her chin resting on her knuckles as she studied her brother. “First off, knowing she’s the last Targaryen is a doozy in itself, but whatever trauma she experienced must be bad enough to make her act that way. I wonder what else must have happened to her.”

It was taking all of Jon’s strength not to spill Missandei’s story, but he held back and shrugged lightly.

“Do you think she goes for therapy? Or maybe she has a shrink who visits her? Or maybe we should just recommend Maester Cressen to her too.”

The snort escaped before Jon could control it. “She doesn’t go outside for anything…well unless absolutely necessary, and I’m guessing it’s only probably when she has to move from house to house. What makes you think she’ll happily jump into a car and drive downtown to see Cressen?”

“He could go see her-”

“My job is not to recommend shrinks or therapies to my clients, Arya,” Jon interrupted curtly; recalling Missandei’s parting words. “In a way, _I’m_ sort of therapeutic for them. They call on me to provide them with fantasies that make them feel good. So for an hour or two, a day, or an entire weekend, I give them a life they can only dream of. Sure they pay for it, but hearing some women say I give them more peace than any head shrink could, makes it all worth it.”

“So, you plan on being her _therapy_ then?”

“If that’s what she wants of me. She’s not sick or completely crippled. She just needs…”

 _What_ exactly? Someone who cooks and takes care of her dogs? She could hire any five-star chef in the world with the kind of money she shelled out and finding someone to take care of her ‘children’ would be no problem either. So, why seek him time and time again even after all his bumbling mistakes? Was there something _more_ he could provide besides the basics? He doubted sex would ever come into the picture, and besides, if Jorah Mormont was planning on living there on a permanent basis, then –

_There’ll be no need for me once the weekend is over._

“She needs a friend,” came the quiet words that shook him out of the blanket of despondency that had threatened to swallow him. He turned to Arya again, a brow raised. At the warm smile she gave, he felt that knot in his chest again. “You said she’s your age, right? And this Missandei woman looks like the only person she’s really close to. Maybe she just wants someone else she can talk to, and I know how great of a listener you are, Jon. Maybe she saw that side of you and appreciates it…that and it seems you’re more like the real you when with her.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Arya chuckled. “I don’t think you’ve ever complained of messing up so many times with a client in a while. The smooth, suave, debonair Jon Snow that’s number two on The Night’s Watch, disappears when in her presence. You become the _real_ Jon and maybe it had to do with not ‘seeing’ her. You liked the inner Dany before you saw her physical features, but you stepped on it when you wanted to focus on her face again. Maybe she thought you were now superficial enough to only like her because of it.”

“So, what do you suggest I do?”

“Treat her the same as you did before the big reveal,” Arya replied with a small smile. “Her physical appearance should not be the issue. Focus on the other things if possible. All those things she likes; the music, movies, or allowing her to teach you High Valyrian, which by the way will be a hoot to hear you speak. Hah!”

Jon attempted to cuff her, but she ducked with a laugh.

“Seriously, Jon. Try not to fuck this up. It could be your most important job yet.”

“I don’t need you to tell me that,” he replied with a mock huff, but he settled back amongst the pillows; his brows meeting in thought. “But you’re right… _this_ could be my most important job ever.”

“Could I get that in writing?”

“What?”

“The part where you said, ‘I was right’, because I need that for legal purposes.”

“Shut the fuck up, Needle,” he snickered and dove for her, causing Ghost to whine at being disturbed from his sleep; though seeing the siblings hitting each other with pillows caused him to want to join in the fun.

“Seven hells, Ghost! You’re the size of a truck,” Jon laughed as he was all but pushed out of the bed with the dog’s overenthusiastic licking of his face.

“Hey, hey! Do you think she’d mind if Ghost came to visit?” Arya asked as she peeked over the edge of the bed to where Jon and Ghost were roughhousing on the floor. “Suggest that to her, and if she says ‘yes’, I could bring him over.”

“You just want an excuse to see her for yourself, don’t you?” Jon smirked at her attempt to look innocent.

“Whaaat? It’s just a suggestion,” she huffed and stuck out her tongue. “Just ask her, it couldn’t hurt, could it?”

“Fine, fine,” he agreed as he tackled Ghost onto his back and began to rub his stomach. “Whatever you say, ma’am. And Arya…?”

“Hmm?”

He stopped rubbing Ghost long enough to smile warmly at his sister. “Thanks…”

_For listening to me, being my sounding board, making me feel good, loving me unconditionally, being fucking alive._

“…for being here.”

Arya looked like she was going to say something smartassed, but at the sincerity on his features, she blushed and looked away. “Just come back home happy that’s all,” she muttered. “And let her know about your super-duper awesome baby sister, okay? Okay, Jon?!”

“Dear gods, okay! I heard you! Geez!”

Baby sisters were official pain-in-the-asses after all.

 

* * *

 

The next couple of weeks were a whirlwind of activity for Jon. His checklist seemed endless, but he managed to get most of them done without losing his mind.

 

  * Go to clinic for testing and bi-weekly check-up. Completed with a clean bill of health.
  * Appointment with hair salon for the full works; haircut, beard trim, mani and pedi plus full body massage that was heaven on earth…probably.
  * Photoshoot for updating of profile page and personal portfolio
  * Escort weekend with middle-aged business executive (repeat client) from Braavos which left him sore in places he never knew existed.
  * Ghost’s vet appointment to get his shots, where the rest of the night was spent apologizing to the pouting pet for being stuck with the giant needle.
  * Escort date with college student using the service for the first time. Chaste kisses and necking involved. Seemed like she’d be a repeat client.
  * Attend Arya’s martial arts tournament where she won the top prize in all five categories – a major achievement considering all the progress made in physical therapy
  * (ah, and there was the problem of coming to terms with the realization that his precious baby sister was probably now seeing some guy who went by the name of Gendry Waters. Hell, this Gendry guy had tailed Arya the whole event and Jon had felt like the third wheel. It didn’t help that she urged him to go home while she, Gendry, and the rest of her pals went to Hot Pie’s for dinner)
  * Date with repeat client, a famous CEO who wished for Jon to wine and dine his surgically-enhanced wife – this time flying them to an exotic retreat in the Summer Islands – where fucking said wife became a voyeuristic event.
  * Hang out with Tormund and the fellas for a night out, which ended with him drunk and staying over at the big guy’s house. By the way, Tormund made the best homemade waffles this side of Westeros.
  * And when he wasn’t too fatigued, he would find the time to study his sign language and even pick up a few Valyrian lessons online.



He knew he sounded terrible when he tried following the eloquent speaker on screen, and he was usually grateful Arya wasn’t around to give him hell for it. It was one of his weaknesses in the business actually. While Jaime and the others, hell even Theon, could pick up different languages easily, Jon’s ability was somewhat lacking. There were a few phrases he had picked up here and there, but the problem was that he never spent enough time in the foreign lands to really acclimate to the people and their cultures. Those trips were usually three (or even one-night affairs) with most of the time spent indoors, and if they did manage to see the locals, conversation was usually one-sided. Bottom line, Jon never tried to better himself in that field, but seeing his attempts to get a hang of High Valyrian now was almost laughable.

Who the hell was he desperate to impress?

“And that is not a rhetorical question,” he whispered as he folded another polo shirt into his luggage.

Ghost whined beside him as if understanding his master’s plight, and Jon absently ruffled his head while trying desperately to control the forming tightness in his stomach. It almost felt as if he had to relieve himself, yet there was nothing his bladder could give. He was just goddamn fucking nervous…and it was only six in the morning.

In about an hour, he had to start the drive to 45 King’s Gate Road, and his head was pounding with all sorts of scenarios; ranging from Dany changing her mind at the very last minute, to seeing Jorah Mormont strolling out the front door to greet him.

Speaking of which, had Jorah even called to ask about his father after he passed away? Or was he too busy trying to woo a certain Targaryen in Essos?

“And why the fuck should you care, Jon Snow?” he chided himself. “Just do your fucking job and forget about that guy.”

Except there was really nothing more for him to do but pace around and watch the clock’s hands ticking away. Packing for a three-day weekend wasn’t exactly a hard task; after doing this for so long, he just about had the routine down to a science. There would be no fancy dinners, so the tux was out. There would definitely be no naked time, so he would probably need an extra outfit just in case. Swimming? Probably. The lake was inviting, so the swim trunks went in as he doubted Dany would appreciate him skinny dipping.

Restless, and needing a way to keep himself busy, he stalked out of his bedroom only to blink in surprise at the sudden gruff greeting of ‘g’morning’ from a half-naked man shuffling into his kitchen.

_The fuck?_

“What are you doing here?” Jon asked incredulously as the handsome, stocky dark-haired man opened the fridge to rummage through it.

“Sorry,” Gendry replied with a lopsided grin as he looked up. “We didn’t get to chow last night, and we’re starving. I said I’ll come make us some breakfast…since you look like you’re going out and all…”

“Isn’t it too early?” came the yawning comment as his sister shuffled out of the bedroom, clearly wearing a man’s shirt, while rubbing her eyes like a kid. Her hair was sensuously tousled, and if the heated look the two shared was any indication –

_You’ve got to be shitting me._

“Can I talk to you for a moment, Arya?” Jon invited in a dark tone that left no room for argument. He didn’t look to see if she was following, but at the sound of her footsteps behind him, once in his bedroom, he whirled on her in silent accusation.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Arya groaned in exasperation. “I’m not a child anymore, Jon. Yes, Gendry and I are dating…and…well, we…it’s none of your business actually.” She added with a huff, while shifting from one foot to the other.

“Well considering it’s my fucking apartment-”

“Fine, we’ll do it at his place, and I might as well just move in with him while I’m at it.”

Jon felt his stomach sink at that. She knew she had him there, and the brief smug look of victory almost caused him to really lose his temper. Yet, he knew his feelings were unfounded. Arya was a woman despite how much he told himself she’d always be his cute little baby Needle. She had reached the age where dating and being in relationships were paramount, so why should he…he who was in the goddamn escort business…be so critical of her decision to be with someone she liked?

_Because she doesn’t have to go running after another man the next day to make sure she has food on the table. She’s only got him to lavish all her attention on, and I have a parade of women on speed dial…who’s the happy one, Jon Snow?_

“Just…don’t do anything you’ll regret,” came the words that sounded small and pathetic even to him.

He definitely wasn’t expecting the sudden hug she gave him, and the feel of her body against his; her small but strong hands holding him tight as if never wanting to let go, caused a hard lump in his throat.

“Gendry’s a great guy,” Arya whispered against his chest. “And you’ll get to know him better when you get back. So, don’t worry about me, okay? You go make Dany Targaryen happy and then come back home to us. We’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

Not trusting himself to speak, he settled for placing a hard kiss on her head and hugging her back in kind. He didn’t even fuss when they returned to the kitchen to find Gendry attempting to make an omelet while burning toast.

Jon would end up cooking for the couple, and as he made his way to Dany’s home, he couldn’t help feeling that Arya was right… _again_. Gendry – who was an Engineering major – wasn’t exactly the best conversationalist, but he made up for it with his clear devotion to his sister. Jon was sure he’d never seen Arya giggle so much with another person.

Could it be love? Only time would tell.

He arrived at the gates at 7.45 a.m.  with fifteen minutes to spare – and it was safe to say that in the daytime, the mansion looked less mysterious and more inviting. The gardens were now blooming with flowers, and their vibrant colors against the white-washed walls of the home, gave one a sense of countryside tranquility. It was easy to picture a man as old as Maester Aemon walking around the grounds, stooped over with age, while two vivacious children ran around in masks hoping for some form of normalcy in a world that hated or feared them.

The water fountain was functional again, and its soothing trickling sound accompanied the low hum of a lawn mower in the backyard. Missandei’s car was already in the driveway, and seeing it eased the tension that had been forming in Jon’s stomach. The cheerful barking from the malamutes was heard long before the front door opened to reveal the Naathi looking lovely in a pair of white capri pants, a flower print blouse, and a large floppy straw hat on her head of curls.

“You’re early, Jon Snow,” she greeted and chuckled as Drogon, Viserion, and Rhaegal, just about sent Jon to his knees with their enthusiastic welcome. “My goodness, Dany was right. You must have some sort of magic with them. They are never this happy with any other guest. Not even me, and I’ve known them longer than you!”

Jon laughed and rose to his feet as the dogs led the way into the house. “I’m a dog whisperer I guess,” he joked while placing polite kisses on her cheeks. She smelled like jasmine…in fact, the whole house did, and as he walked into the now familiar lobby, he wasn’t surprised to find the interior dimmed for the thick curtains were still drawn.

“She’ll join us in a minute,” Missandei was saying as she placed the bouquet of flowers he had purchased on the dining table before walking into the kitchen. “I’ve left instructions, and you can find them in the leather-bound dossier on the counter.” She opened the fridge and cabinets to show him all the ingredients he’d need. “In case you need to leave for any reason, there’s the code to open the gates. Here are the keys to the backdoor…this kitchen to be exact, and now I’ll show you where you’ll sleep.”

Instead of using the elevator, she led him up the curving grand staircase, which was lined with even more impressive portraits of Targaryens. Jon felt the back of his neck prickle with awareness, for it felt as if he was being judged with every single step he took. All the same, it was ‘weird’ seeing another section of the house after having spent all his time being downstairs.

The landing of the second floor was wide enough for four people abreast, and its corridor had more fresh plants in large antique vases along the walls. There were seemingly a hundred doors, but Missandei walked past each one until she came to the last at the end of the hall. It wasn’t too far from another flight of steps leading to a darkened third floor.

“Here we are,” she announced as the dogs bound in after her to sniffle around the room curiously.

It wasn’t as large as his bedroom at home, but it was cozy with a great view of the backyard and lake from its windows. The bed was a twin with a damask canopy of navy and gold; its solid oak headboards and bedposts shiny with age and use. The furniture hadn’t been changed since the last century, but there were modern amenities like the table lamp, a functioning toilet, and an old-fashioned water heater that still worked. Thank the gods…not that he would need hot water in a home that was already sweltering.

Above the hearth was a lovely painting of a castle and at Jon’s query, Missandei revealed it was ‘Summerhall’ – a once lavish summer castle for the Targaryens somewhere close to Dorne.

“Got destroyed in a fire when Rhaeger was born,” Missandei explained as Jon thumbed through the small selection of leather-bound books on the fireplace. Most were classic novels he hadn’t read since childhood, but there was something about the smell of their yellowed pages that took him back to Winterfell.

The sudden stab of homesickness had his stomach lurching.

“Is it to your liking? We can change rooms if there’s anything you don’t like.”

“No, it’s fine,” Jon replied quickly with what he hoped was a genuine smile. “It’s not like I’m staying here forever. This room is perfect.”

She nodded and waited for him to drop his luggage before taking him back out to the hallway. He spied the décor-doors leading to the elevator at the other end of it, and from the whirring sound it was making, it was clear Dany was either on her way downstairs or was already there.

“Uumm…would it be too invasive of me to ask where she sleeps? I mean I don’t plan to go in there to attack her or anything-”

“Relax, Mr. Snow,” Missandei replied with a laugh. “She’s just two doors away from you.”

She pointed to said door, which looked no different from his, and Jon nodded in understanding. It would take every fiber of his being not to want to go snooping around to see what Dany’s personal haven looked like, but that was out of bounds. Missandei was telling him instructions about the rest of the house –

“…explore at your leisure,” she was saying as they arrived at the lobby again. Only this time, the guest-of-honor was waiting patiently, with her dogs, for them.

Jon, perhaps a small part of him assuming she would have chosen to leave her face uncovered, felt a small pang of disappointment. However, recalling Arya’s advice, he shook away the superficial thoughts and chose to focus on how…well, nice she looked today actually.

Her scarf was a pretty floral print, that was as usual, wrapped all around her head and tied neatly beneath her chin. She was wearing the large oversized sunglasses that just about covered the top half of her face. Her face mask was mesh-like but blue in color. Draped around her shoulders was another rich burgundy hand-sewn shawl from Essos. Beneath was a simple white turtleneck leading to hands that were enclosed in white gloves. The blanket covering her lower half was probably her favorite since she used it often, and for shoes – the same sensible matronly black pair.

She held up the board before he could greet her.

GOOD TO SEE YOU, JON.

He smiled. “Same here, Dany. I like your shawl…and scarf.”

She looked down at them as if seeing it for the first time. She might have been blushing, but she shrugged instead and lowered the board to sign at Missandei.

“Yes, I showed him his room,” she replied, “And everything else you told me to tell him.”

Dany thanked her, and Jon watched as the two friends hugged each other in farewell.

“I’ll be out of town this weekend,” Missandei added as she reached for the hat she had hung on the coat rack earlier. “But you have my number should you need anything, and Sam – the groundskeeper – can also help if you’re stuck with anything. All right you two,” she grinned at Dany, who was playfully covering her mouth with the chalkboard. “Behave yourselves and try not to get naughty, okay?”

To Jon’s surprise, Dany raised her middle finger to that, and the laughter burst out of him before he could hold back. Missandei joined in, though she waggled her brows suggestively before escaping a piece of chalk flying after her as she made her escape.

Jon picked it up and, still chuckling, tried to return it.

“Giving her the bird, Ms. Storm? You really are full of surprises, aren’t you?”

She dug into the bag hanging from the side of her wheelchair to pull out another piece of chalk. She scribbled fast on her board and held it up.

NO TEASING FROM YOU EITHER.

Jon gave a mock salute. “Yes ma’am.”

She accepted the chalk from him, and in so doing their fingers brushed for the first time. Neither was sure who gave the barely audible gasp at the contact, but she pulled away quickly as if trying to dispel the jolt was felt in that moment. Without looking up, she spun her chair around expertly and began wheeling herself toward the living room…but stopped long enough to scribble out something on the board.

BREAKFAST PLEASE, it said as she raised it over her head. I’M HUNGRY.

And with that first request, Jon Snow took a deep shuddering breath, told himself to stop feeling so excited over _only_ their damn _fingers_ touching, and readied himself for the most unpredictable weekend of his life.

 

 

 

 


	6. Dany

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whooo...a lot to unpack with this one. So take your time and read it *lol*  
> I would have posted this tomorrow, but I'm off to go see the new Star Wars movie (got to support my gal Em!), and I've edited this thing enough without going nuts.  
> Enjoy our two babies being silly, but especially Dany's journey (cause she actually almost made me cry a few times while writing this), so yeah...as always your feedback is much appreciated and encouraged! *bows gratefully*  
> Warning! Scenes of rape/non-con and incest.

 

He was blind. She _knew_ he was blind.

Yet dear Grandpa Aemon acted and behaved like any other normal person. Yes, he shuffled around with the help of a cane, but he had an uncanny awareness of his environment and everyone in it. He did not bump into things and could tell who was in the room even before the person spoke. No matter how many times she tried to sneak in and catch him unawares, his kind and wrinkled features would always break into a grin of recognition.

“I know you’re in here, Princess,” he’d tease. “Now stop hiding behind the sofa and come read to your grandpa, eh?”

Once she had even tested him by deliberately picking the wrong book, but even before she opened its cover, he tapped his cane once on the floor and shook his head slowly.

“That isn’t the right one, Dany. We must finish _The Measure of the Days_ , then we can begin _The Edge of the World_.”

Spooky, wasn’t it?

He enjoyed listening to her read and would help her learn new words she struggled with by making her repeat them, search for their meaning in a dictionary, and recount to him their purpose in their proper context. When she wasn’t attending to him, he read his _special_ books; odd things with tiny bumps he’d run his gnarled and trembling fingers over. His head would be raised, those milky-grey eyes almost rolling into his skull in some awkward semblance of ecstasy. It was as if he _listened_ to the motion of his fingers dancing across the pages.

She often watched in fascination until her curiosity got the best of her. How did he do it? Surely her dear Grandpa wouldn’t be lying about his condition? It had to be sorcery. Those eyes were simply guided by magic of some kind.

“That’s because I don’t need them to _see_ , my dear one,” he’d replied with a chuckle and a tender pat of her head. “The gods favored us with five senses; sight, sound, touch, taste, smell…yet they equip us to adapt should any of them fail us. With my sight gone, my other senses heighten to make up for that loss. So while visually I am in the black, everything else is amplified and clearer to me. And you want to know a secret, my dear one? It’s now so much easier to see within one’s heart, for sometimes the eyes deceive and feed you with false information.”

His hand reached out to her and patiently, she allowed him to trace the contours of her face with those calloused hands she loved to hold. “Ah, how beautiful you are, my princess. It is a beauty that shines from within…brighter than anyone else’s. Who needs eyes, when simply touching you tells me everything?”

She had giggled in delight then, a girl of eight indulging in an old man’s follies. Still, the curiosity bug caused her to return to her bedroom later that evening, blindfold herself, and pretend to be blind. She would show up for breakfast with enough bruises to have her brother, Viserys, and Ser Davos Seaworth (her grandpa’s most trusted companion) gawking at her in disbelief. She was too embarrassed to explain what she had done, though she’d eventually confess to her grandpa. His hearty laughter made her feel she wasn’t so silly after all.

 _Neither had he been a crazy old codger,_ Dany mused with a rueful smile.

He was right about the adaption of the senses; his words making more sense when her vocal cords would eventually fail while kept in the catacombs of Vaes Dothrak.

It was so easy to take the act of speaking for granted. Being able to vocalize one’s thoughts always came effortlessly, and for as long as she could remember, her voice was one of the few things that made her unique. When she wasn’t using it to read to grandpa, it rang around the rooms of the mansion with tunes she had learned from watching movies or listening to classical recordings. Grandpa Aemon had said her voice was like that of the angels, but since she doubted he had actually heard real angels before, she took the compliment with a grain of salt. She did treasure the positive reactions she received from her riveted audience - usually made up of her grandpa, Ser Davos, Cynthia Frey (their cook, housekeeper, and everything in-between), and Ser Morton Waynwood (groundskeeper) - whenever she put on ‘shows’. She would sing and dance in costumes Ms. Frey helped create, play the piano, tell some jokes or perform easy magic tricks Ser Davos had taught her. Once in a while, Viserys would attend; mostly with a look of irritation or boredom on his handsome features. There was the one time he had actually clapped after a performance, and Dany was sure she had glowed with pride for days afterwards.

Once upon a time, her voice had held meaning. However, as the years rolled by, that meaning would be slowly eroded. From the despair of Grandpa Aemon’s death, to the horror of being taken across the Narrow Sea to unfamiliar territory and being sold like a brood mare to a man who terrified her. Her voice lost its meaning when she screamed to Viserys not to leave her alone, her vision blurred with tears as he turned his back on her and focused on the gold coins being counted into his palms. Her voice lost its meaning when stifled against rich, soft cushions of silk and fur as she was taken roughly, over and over again until the lines were blurred between pleasure and pain. Her voice lost its meaning when she attempted to learn Dothraki, got far enough to somewhat please her _khal_ , though it made little difference at her shortcomings as a rider. Her voice lost its meaning when she was mocked and sent kicking and screaming into the catacombs, until it was nothing more than muffled echoes absorbed into the red earth.

For days, she was left alone with Silence as a companion. Eventually, she would force herself to engage in conversation with it, curled up against the wall and reciting passages from her favorite books or singing songs of fair maidens with handsome knights rescuing them from danger. Sometimes she would laugh hysterically into the dark, a dreadful raw sound that was a mixture of anger, desperation, and sadness.

When she was finally remembered, the _khal_ returned with two handmaidens in tow and orders to have the shit, piss, and vomit washed off her filthy body. Foolishly, she had thought he was forgiving her; that she would return to the world above ground and start anew. She would be stronger for him, she promised. Yet, when he slapped her grasping hands away, with an expression of such disgust on his hardened features, a low ripping sound was heard only to her. It was her heart being shred to pieces just a little bit more.

Once presentable, she was merely taken to another section of what appeared to be an endless cavern. Only this time, she was given warm bedding and a lone brazier with flickering flames for comfort. A part of her latched on to his rare display of kindness, and like a child eager to please, she bore his painful visits with smiles. She allowed herself to be used and abused, telling herself she probably deserved it for not being strong enough. Her voice would become quieter then, especially on the days he showed up furious over something that had gone wrong within his _khalasar_. He never wanted to hear her words of support or encouragement, only satisfied to wallow in her groans of anguish or orgasmic completion as he spilled his seed within her. When he finished, it was usually with a muttered curse; cupping her chin and sneering at how terrible she looked all red-eyed and puffy-faced.

In time, a few choice words clung to her like leeches, words she would sometimes whisper to herself as if testing their weight on her tongue: _mezhah_ (whore), _edavrasa_ (useless), _rikh_ (rotten), _gimi_ (mouse), _darin_ (lame), _sorf_ (dirty). He never hit her for sport, if that could be considered a blessing, but he did take pleasure in causing her emotional and mental pain. Those insults would be casually tossed in her direction as he paced around her, sometimes sneered in her face until she cowered in fear. He’d laugh then, and perhaps the smell of her terror made him hard enough to take her again despite her meek protests.

He had no use for conversations with her, though he would eventually concede to her pleas for a companion by bringing a woman who would change her life around in more ways than one.

For a while, her voice would quiver with traces of the past in the presence of the lovely brown-skinned woman from Naath. Missandei (as she was known) did not consider her a whore or useless. Like her Grandpa Aemon, she didn’t seem to care about her physical features, which Dany sometimes tried to hide behind scarves. Missandei spoke to her of a great many things happening on the outside (for she was allowed to go up every once in a while). How all the girls now dressed, what kind of movies were in theaters, the current music trends, and so on.

Hence, from shy whispers to girly giggles, their bond would grow until they became inseparable. She sometimes slept in Missandei’s arms, especially after a visit from the _khal,_ listening to the Naathi’s lovely voice as she sang traditional songs of comfort. Missandei was also there when the heavy bleeding started, her small frame wracked with such intense pains she could barely breathe. She fell very ill after that and would eventually learn she had been with child and lost it. It was only more fodder for the _khal_ to use against her.

Missandei, her dear friend and sister, never left her side after that ‘failure’. She never judged or looked at Dany any different. She even projected some of Dany’s anger and frustrations, whenever the _khal_ arrived, in the form of a glare or sneer when he wasn’t looking.

On quieter days, she would ask after her brother for though a part of her would never forgive him for what happened that night at the mansion, he was still flesh and blood and her only tie to what was left of her family. For a while, Missandei could give her no satisfactory answer, for she had never seen Viserys in person. However, after much querying, she would learn the terrible truth.

Dany, in some way, must have sensed it even before Missandei opened her lips to say the words. Her brother - her dear proud, foolish, and stubborn brother - had lost his life at the hands of the _khal_ barely a year into her incarceration, and she was never told. For two years, the _khal_ had kept this news from her and perhaps had no plans to ever tell her. And what a cruel way to go…being crowned with scalding melted gold, as if mocked for his shallow dreams of reclaiming his family’s glory. It was too horrific to bear, and Dany was sure she had heard his dying screams in a dream.

_That’s it then. I am all that is left of House Targaryen._

If asked, she would probably say that her voice – what was left of it – simply gave up the fight. She had awakened that morning unable to do nothing but squeak or nod like a fool when spoken to. With tears in her eyes, she had stared helplessly at a panicked Missandei as the words remained stubbornly lodged in her throat. There were so many things she wanted to say, but it felt as if there was an invisible chunk of ice stuck in there, causing her physical and mental anguish.

Frustration led to desperation which led to the need to end a life no longer worth living. She couldn’t even scream, not even when the jagged piece of rock she used to scrape across her wrists, over and over and over again, would eventually break the skin. She had stared in morbid fascination at the thick pooling blobs of her blood, and the dizziness would kick in just as Missandei arrived in time to save her life… _again_. Once she had tried hanging herself but had only ended up with a terrible cough and a sore neck. Another time, she had put her hands in the fire, hoping to at least burn herself raw, but – like an angel out of the darkness – Missandei always seemed to show up or awaken at the right minute.

 _Death is not the answer,_ her dear friend had screamed at her with tears in her eyes. _You can’t die here, Dany! There’s a whole world out there just waiting for you! Please hang in there! You are the only family I have left, so please don’t leave me!_

 _For you…only for you,_ Dany had thought as she hugged back and wept just as hard. She hated to see Missandei this distraught, and knowing she was the cause of it made it twice as difficult. And so, for her adopted sister’s sake, Dany chose to cling to Life, counting each endless day until her knight finally arrived.

_Jorah Mormont._

He wasn’t exactly as the books or movies had described. He wasn’t fair and beautiful, but dark and coarse, and far older than she was. How did he find her? From his many travels, as a businessman, he had heard the rumors of a certain pale female foreigner wandering the lands of the Dothraki. Imagine his surprise to find that it was indeed the last living Targaryen, though he vowed never to betray her trust by revealing her true identity. He had admired and even worked for her real father, Aerys, for some time, so finding her after all these years was meant to be.

He hadn’t gone into details of whatever negotiations he had carried out with the _khal_ , but it was enough to gain her freedom which was all that mattered. He had not questioned her desire to hide her features or why she would not speak to him directly. Yet she was treated with a kindness and respect she had not received from any male in a long time. He reminded her of her Grandpa Aemon, Ser Davos, and Ser Morton – men of honor who appreciated her. It would take a while to get used to him, but this Jorah Mormont, a man from a place called Bear Island in northern Westeros, was going to be a part of her new family. He, and Missandei, would take the place of those she had lost when Viserys chose to uproot her from home.

Yet, on the day of her release, she was too terrified to see the world again. She fell ill at the thought of anyone else seeing her ‘disgusting’ features and trembled at the idea of being ridiculed for her inability to walk properly or even speak. It must have taken at least a week to convince her to finally leave her safe haven, and when she did the immediate sensation of the sun against her pallid skin was too much to bear. Her weakened vision was nearly blinded by its brilliance and her flesh seemed to sizzle beneath its baking heat. Sunscreens and skin protectants didn’t do much, and so she was forced to return to being covered from head to foot as precaution.

All the same, living in Braavos made her relearn what it meant to be truly ‘alive’ again. Though it would take at least a month for her to leave the comfort of her room within the large manse, she finally showed herself only if a few extra accommodations were provided for her. A new wheelchair for mobility and for the drapes to remain closed at all times. It wasn’t to say that she never chose to see the outdoors again, for on rainy days, when the weather was relatively cool, she did enjoy sitting by the windows to view the wet streets, to marvel at how pretty the plants and flowers looked, or to simply listen to the soothing sounds it made.

It was where Grandpa Aemon’s lesson about the senses began to kick in.

She could still see, taste, smell, and touch, but for some reason when anyone knew she was ‘mute’, they seemed to immediately associate it with being deaf as well. It was annoying to have her few visitors lean closer to her and raise their voices, while speaking slowly as if addressing a child.

 _I can hear you just fine without you spitting in my face,_ she wanted to say, but she chose to simply smile and indulge their erroneous assumptions while allowing herself to see beyond their facades.

She would come to learn that her _silence_ did heighten her other senses. It especially made it easy for her to read another’s intentions, for they were sometimes forced to be just as silent or to communicate in the same way. Silence was a great way to know those who were honest and genuine compared to those just eager to shower you with false praises or simply impatient. She learned how to read expressions and body language; from the furrowing of brows, the quiver of lips, the restless motions of hands and feet, to even a throbbing vein at a temple. It was especially helpful thanks to the dark sunglasses she began wearing. With no one able to really see her gaze, she could study them without being too invasive.

Human beings were truly fascinating creatures, and her sketch books could attest to that.

With the help of a therapist, who came to the manse once a week, she was forced to address other issues she had kept suppressed. Aware that she had been robbed of her ability to sing and dance, she was encouraged to hone on her other talents; talents she was sure would have faded away while in Vaes Dothrak. However, when Missandei had shown up with a sketch pad, pencils, and crayons –

“You told me you used to paint and draw when you were in Westeros, so…here you go! You can try drawing me first.”

…tears of gratitude slid down her cheeks as she hugged the materials tight to her chest. She missed her art room, or as she had called it ‘Dany’s Magic Place’ back in Westeros. It had once been a storage room on the third floor of the mansion, but with Ser Davos, Ser Morton, and Ms. Frey’s help, they had converted it into her private world of creativity and adventure.  Nothing was better than sitting by the window, painting with her watercolors, or letting her pencils do the talking.

Those bouts of nostalgia would be one of the many reasons she decided to return to Westeros. She had no idea if the house was even still there, or if Ser Davos was still alive (for he had convinced Viserys to leave the house in his care). However, Jorah – ever ready and willing to please her – somehow managed to not only find the older man, now living just off Dragonstone, but was able to ‘purchase’ it for a steal. His only payment was honoring Davos’s wishes to see Dany again, and it was safe to say that the reunion was a poignant one. Both had shed tears and reminisced over the good times spent together. Unfortunately, Ser Morton had passed away from a terrible bout of pneumonia, and Ms. Frey had returned to her hometown, though Davos was sure she would come running as soon as she heard Dany was back.

 _Will you come live with me?_ She had pleaded with the man once considered a second father-figure.

 _I wish I could, Princess,_ Davos replied sadly. _But I am too old now and not likely to be much use to you. I will recommend good people to help you, but I’d rather spend the rest of my days here. However, if you allow me to visit you once in a while, it would mean the world to me._

It was disappointing, but understandable, and true to his word, Davos had helped with the relocation process. He confessed he had not bothered coming back to the mansion after a few years, hence its reason for looking for derelict, but everything else was still as it was. He had not changed a thing and did not have the heart to.

 _Time simply stopped,_ she thought as she had wheeled herself into her childhood home after eight long years. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine her Grandpa Aemon shuffling out of his den with his walking cane, while calling out ‘princess’ in that trembling voice of his. She could picture Ms. Frey skipping out of the kitchen with a plate of freshly baked cookies and a huge smile on her ruddy features. She could picture Ser Davos spit shining some of the antique displays in the hallways, and there would be Ser Morton trudging in with tracks of mud from the garden which would get Ms. Frey upset as it meant having to wash the floors again. Those homely memories would fade away and be replaced with the last time she was in this house. She could see Viserys impatiently urging her to move faster or they’d miss their flight. He had lied to her then, telling her they were simply going to visit a new country –

“Get to see the rest of the fucking world,” he had said. “We’ve been kept in this damn prison for too long.”

She didn’t think the mansion had been a ‘prison’, but how excited had she been at the prospect of traveling? She had never been in a plane before, and even driving to the airport had been an adventure in itself. It was unfortunate everything after their arrival in Pentos, had been a sham.

Shrugging those painful thoughts aside, she wheeled herself toward the main living room. It was just as she remembered, with the furniture arranged in a specific way so her Grandpa Aemon could maneuver around them efficiently. The beautiful grand piano still sat silent and waiting for her to sit on its bench, to run her fingers across its dusty and cobwebbed keys, and to belt out a tune to her ghostly audience whose faded applause brought tears to her eyes. She would observe the familiar towering portraits of her ancestors, the hard realization that she was the only one left coming to heed as she studied the most recent addition to the lot. It was a painting of her, a piece of art commissioned by Grandpa Aemon for her sixteenth birthday. She had chosen to wear that dress - for she had a passion for period pieces and thought the women always looked lovely in their corsets and billowing gowns - but especially because her mother had worn something like that in her portrait. Ms. Frey had helped sew the gown, and Dany had felt like an actual princess as she posed for it.

When completed, everyone agreed it was a masterpiece, though she had felt sad that her Grandpa couldn’t actually see it.

Not that any of it mattered anymore.

That Dany was dead. That Dany who had once looked upon Life with such naïve optimism. Reality had kicked her in the guts, and she had finally come to terms with her new disposition. She couldn’t walk or speak, but so what? She wasn’t the only person with such disabilities. There were so many others like her, and they were adjusting and living their lives to the fullest. Goodness knows she had watched and read enough to see all the progress made.

There were times she wished she could just break down the doors, fling the windows open, and roll outdoors without giving in to that tiny voice that warned her of the dangers of doing so. It wasn’t as loud as before, but it was still there…always holding her back whenever she thought she was brave enough to finally take the next step.

 

* * *

 

Drogon’s cold muzzle against her cheek would bring her back to the present. She suffered his slow lick and then breathless panting as he sat beside her with that adorable eagerness she could not resist. Chuckling, she ruffled his great big head and buried her face against its hairy warmth. She was quick to notice he was alone again, and as the delicious smells of breakfast wafted into the room, she sighed and scratched his ears.

 _Your brothers are traitors,_ she communicated with a mock frown of disappointment. _They leave me to go to him all the time. I should punish them for being so fickle with their loyalties._

Drogon barked in agreement and licked her hand before lying at her feet to stare at the television showing a game show of some sort.

Traitorous siblings or not, Drogon, Viserion, and Rhaegal were her precious babies – the three greatest gifts a friend to Jorah had given her while in Braavos. She had raised them from tiny helpless puppies to the giant lovable mutts they were today. Their devotion to her was absolute and vice versa. It was needless to say that they had been instrumental to her recovery, for they never left her side – if they could help it – and were more protective of their mother than anyone human could ever be.

Until this Jon Snow character showed up that is.

She glanced in the direction of the kitchen again, her lower lip caught between her teeth as the new voice – this new voice that was slightly frightening with its brazen thoughts – whispered that it was okay for her to steal a peek at what he was doing. So, yes, she could technically view him from the app on her phone which gave access to all the cameras hidden within the house (Jorah’s idea for protection), but it felt too…weird. First, it was in black and white, and two, it made him look tiny…which he was anything but.

Even the photos on his profile page at The Night’s Watch did not serve him any justice. The cheesy poses of him lying on a car - clad in a grease-stained top and jeans so tight they left little to the imagination -  had at first turned her off (but then again, she had only wanted to hire the best and had assumed Jaime Lannister being #1 was worth all the money she was paying him). However, when Jon Snow walked into her life that night – looking for all the world like he’d rather not be there – the ‘new voice’ had slowly emerged; like a budding rose struggling to sprout from the most unforgiving of soils.

Never had she been gladder for her ‘shield’, for when he eventually broke into his first real smile of the evening, she felt she was thirteen again staring, with wide-eyed adoration at her music or movie idols. She had definitely not expected him, and it was only after she had sent him to the grocery store, did she see the missed calls and text messages from Tyrion Lannister apologizing for not having Jaime available that night. Annoyance turned to curiosity, and Dany decided she might as well learn more about this man she had skimmed over.

His main profile picture was the cheesy one of him brooding on the hood of a car, but as she scrolled through more of his images, he wasn’t such a one-trick pony after all. Sure the dark and sultry look could be considered sexy, but the lone photo of him actually laughing was what sent the butterflies fluttering in earnest. It was as if the very act of smiling changed him completely. His already handsome features were more open, inviting, and the sparkle in those grey eyes was contagious enough to have her smiling without realizing it. She liked the way his black curly hair framed his face as well as the growth of beard that gave him an added rugged edge. His teeth were impossibly white, his lips full and kissable (Missandei’s words not hers…though she had to agree anyway), and his body… _well_.

She felt a not too unfamiliar rush of heat and she absently fanned herself with the morning newspaper.

It was impossible not to notice his physique. He didn’t help with his choice to wear those tight polo shirts that tended to expose his ripped arms, emphasize his broad shoulders, and washboard abs. And if he wasn’t in casual slacks, he did seem to favor those damned tight jeans that clung to narrow hips and powerful legs; legs she had seen in action the time she watched him run around her backyard with her children. Which brought her back to square one – her traitorous children who were showing much more attention to him than even Jorah or Missandei.

Speaking of Missandei…this whole thing was her fault anyway.

They had been watching a chick flick – where a shy and awkward young woman from the countryside had gone to the city and fallen in love with the worldly, dashing high-priced escort. The plot was ridiculous, but no one could fault the actors for putting on the performance of their lives. By the end of the movie, both women were almost in tears at how romantic it was for the man to give up everything to be with the country girl.

“Ah, if only such things happened in real life,” Missandei had sighed afterwards.

 _Who says it can’t?_ Dany asked with a shrug. _Anything is possible. Not for people like me though._

"What do you mean not for people like you?”

 _Look at me,_ Dany had replied with a laugh. _I’m stuck in a wheelchair-_

“Yeah, but your dildo still works, doesn’t it?”

Dany had turned a bright red at that and tried to attack her friend playfully. _What’s that got to do with anything?!_

“It means that you still have those urges,” Missandei said with a laugh. “Besides, you’ve not been with a man for what…four years? Or have you and Jorah been…?”

_No, no, no!_

“Well then, what’s the problem? Your vibrator can only do so much, and I’m tired of lending you mine, so go find yourself an escort.”

_You’re crazy. I can’t do that!_

“What’s the harm in it? Just find you a man who would fuck you senseless and then say goodbye the next day. End of story. It’s going to be a one-time thing. Live a little with all that money your Pa Aemon and Jorah left you. It will be worth it.”

They had both laughed it off eventually and said their farewells. Topic over, right? Or maybe not, for despite her better judgement, Dany was finally tired of tossing and turning in bed and had reached for her laptop to begin searching. She would place the order for Jaime before she could talk herself out of it. Besides, if they couldn’t see her face, they couldn’t complain about how she looked. She would test Jaime out first to see if he was able to carry out all the other things he listed on his profile before…somehow…urging him to take her to bed.

Now, _that_ was going to be the tricky part.

She sighed in weary resignation.

The last time a man had touched her, it was deep in the bowels of the earth with his calloused hands gripping her hips as he slammed his thick cock into her for a few minutes before release. Her nipples might have been pinched and twisted cruelly, but that just about summed up her sexual experiences so far. Viserys hadn’t even been that good…if she was to compare him to anything. Her brother had just been as naïve and unsure of himself even as he took her, for he had been with no other woman. She had noticed the ‘change’ in him, especially when her breasts began to bud. He would never look at her for too long, and when he did, it was with a heat that made her feel weird.

The night he finally couldn’t help himself, he had sneaked into her room, covered her mouth with his hand and whispered for her to follow him. Unsure of what was going on, she did as told – her loose and sheer nightgown not helping as she noticed the bulge in his pjs. It wasn’t until they were in the attic, and he closed the door behind them, did she begin to sense something was wrong.

He pushed her against the wall and began kissing her, a sloppy motion of lips that was too confusing at first. She felt she ought to respond, for though she practiced kissing herself in the mirror (while assuming it was another boy doing it), it still felt wet and slippery. When he suddenly grabbed her breasts and pinched her nipples, her cry of pain was muffled against his hand covering her mouth again.

“Don’t make a sound or I’ll hit you,” he warned breathlessly. “You don’t want to be hit, do you?”

No, no she didn’t. Her tears were ignored when she felt him rub his slick, hot cock against her dress, and when he finally managed to thrust into her, the pain was almost numbing. She squeezed her eyes shut and bore it as best she could but was ashamed to admit that it had started feeling ‘good’ after a while. Maybe it was the constant rubbing sensation of his penis inside of her, and how his face had looked when she had stopped crying long enough to notice. Viserys had appeared to be in pain, his features all contorted, flushed, and sweaty. He would make a low mewling sound (like a dying cat) as he finally came, and that was when she realized she was bleeding as well.

If he noticed, he made no mention of it. He simply cleaned himself up and left with the warning never to tell anyone about what happened…ever.

Pity Ms. Frey had noticed her acting strange the next day. After all, not wanting to get out of bed, walking a bit slower, holding onto your lower abdomen, or still spotting were enough telltale signs to have the older woman shrieking in dismay. She would report it to Grandpa Aemon, who – for the first time in the children’s lives – showcased how much of a ‘dragon’ he was. They had never seen him so angry, though her brother had fought back with the reasoning that he was simply ‘following the traditions of their fucked-up family’, he was duly punished for his actions. He would never touch her again.

So, yes, between Viserys and the _khal_ , her sexual experiences were hardly anything to write home about.

She had come to associate the act of lovemaking with pain and watching movies where the couples always seemed to enjoy it, made little to no sense to her. Still, she was human and had those desires come and go. To sate them, she pleasured herself – too embarrassed to let Missandei help whenever she offered to. She had briefly indulged in the idea of allowing Jorah to have his way, for the gods knew his longing and lingering heated gazes hadn’t gone unnoticed. However, she would balk at the last minute and shudder at the idea of those large hairy hands touching her. Sensing her frustrations, Missandei would introduce her to the world of sexual toys, and though at first embarrassed at owning such things, they did prove to come in handy when her fingers got too cramped to continue the work. Unfortunately, as good as the devices were, a part of her still longed for the real thing; to have some sort of connection – even if it was associated with pain- with another human being.

Yet the prospect of initiating such a thing or even allowing a stranger to do so, was proving to  be a challenge. She had studied up on women who had participated in the services of escorts and took some solace in the notion that these men would simply act as human dildos. There would be no real emotional attachment, and at the end of the night, you went your separate ways.

The plan was to see through their other talents and then bring up the sex thing…right?

So far, Jon fucking Snow was ruining that plan without even trying.

She had sworn it would be a one-time thing with him, but from his attachment to her children, his out-of-this-world cooking skills (where the hell had he learned to cook like that anyway?), his pitiful piano playing skills, his actually great singing voice, his sexy accent which was more pronounced when panicked, his inability to stop putting his foot into his mouth, and all around inherent ‘goodness’ was proving to be damn problematic.

She _wanted_ him to fulfil the human dildo part, but she was now actually terrified of _disappointing_ him.

It was a perplexing conundrum, for she felt she had to have the upper hand in their relationship – if one could even call it that – but the more she saw him, the more she realized she was failing miserably. He had ‘fallen’ for the Dany in the portrait – that much was obvious with the way he all but drooled over it, and her insecurities had kicked up another notch. It all came to a head with her stupid decision to go steal another peach rose, getting caught, seeing those grey eyes widen with an expression she did not want to dwell on, seeing them warm and inviting as he pleaded for her to reveal herself to him again…

_And what was that about his heart skipping a beat at how beautiful her eyes were?_

She blushed furiously and clasped her hands tightly on her lap. He was probably just using one of his escort lines to make her feel good. However, where such words might have meant nothing to her in the past (for goodness knows Jorah gushed all the time about her beauty), hearing Jon say it was _different_.

He _meant_ every word of it, and she didn’t know how to deal with that.

The sudden ringing of the bell, hailing her for breakfast, caused her to start. She took a deep breath and straightened out her blanket with trembling fingers. She adjusted her scarf and sunglasses, before kicking herself mentally for what she was doing. It wasn’t as if Jon was going to be joining her. He was probably already in the backyard as usual.

Not sure why that knowledge made her heart ache, she wheeled herself into the dining room, with Drogon trotting after her. As always, Jon had set the table impeccably, leaving another lone purple chrysanthemum in a vase as a ‘gift’. She plucked out the flower and tucked it into her blouse, before lifting the dish cover to see what was on the menu today. She hadn’t told him what to prepare and was glad she hadn’t, for seeing the steaming crepes made with a variation of vegetables, almost had her clapping her hands in delight. She couldn’t wait to take a bite, and when it filled her mouth, she moaned in pleasure at the spine-tingling taste. Goodness, it had to be illegal to be this good. Jon was missing his calling as a five-star chef, and she wondered if she ought to tease him about it.

Seeing him blush was almost always a high point of his visits.

She barely noticed when Drogon left, but she did hear her children barking happily outdoors and Jon’s low laughter filtering through. Her eating slowed as she absorbed the sounds, her chest tightening with an inexplicable emotion that made her want to cry.

She looked around her; the grand dining room with its elegant table and twenty or so empty chairs, the drawn curtains letting in only a sliver of light and realized…not for the first time how really _lonely_ this all was. She closed her eyes and imagined Jon sitting across her, eating with her, making some stupid joke or laughing about something she said.

 _You could always order him to join you,_ that new voice whispered. _It’s part of his job, isn’t it? So what if he sees that you eat like a normal human being? What’s so wrong with it?_

She lifted her lashes and glanced at the bell. All she had to do was ring it, and he’d come running. He’d assume she was gone, but…but…

_I can’t do it! No, no, no…it’s better this way. I’m not ready. Not yet. Just…a little more time._

She did leave a note thanking him for the meal, though she had no idea why she felt like a complete coward when he walked into the living room later with her children in tow.

“I met Sam,” he began before she could even complete her words on the board. “He seems like a nice guy.”

He plopped down into the love seat and smiled at her, and she cursed for the one-millionth time beneath her breath at how good he looked. The grey shirt had its sleeves pushed up to expose those ripped upper arms, and though it was slightly damp with sweat from his exertions, he still managed to look effortlessly desirable. He was yet to untie his hair from the bun though. She bet those curls would stick to his face and -

Shaking herself from her blatant staring and dangerously errant thoughts, she wrote quickly and hoped her hands weren’t shaking too much.

SAM IS A FRIEND OF SER DAVOS. USED TO WORK FOR MY PA AEMON.

“Sam worked for your great-great-grand uncle?”

She rolled her eyes at his mistake and rewrote it. NO. DAVOS WORKED FOR PA AEMON. HE REC’D SAM.

“Aaaah, got it.” And to her pleasant surprise, he signed and said at the same time. “My mistake. Did I get that right?”

She nodded, her heart stirring at the notion that this man had felt it necessary to learn sign language when he didn’t need to. Besides, she had promised to teach him, hadn’t she?

WE COULD START YOUR LESSON NOW IF YOU WANT.

Jon grinned and rubbed his hands. “Awesome. Where do you want me? On the floor or…”

She motioned for him to pull up a chair, which he did so he sat directly across her. She would do her best not to notice how easily he spread those legs and how powerful his thighs were, and when he leaned forward – with a frown of concentration on his features – his scent, a rich earthy male smell unique to him – got her shifting restlessly. He was too close, but how else was he to learn?

LET’S START WITH ALPHABETS AND NUMBERS…U KNOW THEM ALREADY?

“Yep…tell me if I miss any, okay?”

He began to sign them slowly, and she’d stop him when he messed up a letter. He got through most of it, though there were times she found herself physically pulling away so as not to reach out for his hands to correct them herself. She was fearful of receiving even more jolts of electricity from the contact. Hell, she was still trying to recover from the incident earlier with the chalk.

They were so into the lesson, that it took Sam actually screaming out a ‘hello!’ before either of them noticed. The heavyset, cheerful-faced man was holding his cap between his hands and smiling in apology.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt you two, but I just wanted to say I’m all done for today, Miss Storm. Do you need me for anything else? Looks like rain though.”

“Rain?” Jon repeated. “Figures…it was much cooler outside earlier.”

“Might just be a passing shower,” Sam agreed. “It’s that time of the year after all.”

Dany scribbled out her thanks and to let him know she would be fine. She also wished his wife good fortunes.

“I’ll let her know. Thank you, Miss. All righty then,” Sam said with another bow of farewell. He waved lightly to Jon. “I’ll be seeing you next week then, eh? Jon? Nice meeting you too.”

“Likewise, Sam.”

Once he was gone, Jon made a motion of wiping sweat from his brow as he glanced at the clock. “Wow had no idea it was almost noon. I should be getting ready to prepare lunch.”

She shook her head and signing slowly so he could follow, said, _I eat lunch at two. No rush._

 _All right_ , he replied in kind. _What do you want to do next?_

What did she _want_ to do next? Unable to say what she really needed him to do, she chose something safer by pointing to the book sitting on the side table. She held it out to him.

“You want me to read to you?”

She nodded and cocked her head to the side, raising a brow as if asking if that was too much a task for him. She wasn’t prepared for the lazy smile he gave – as if her request was to be expected – and she certainly wasn’t ready for the nervous flip of her stomach as he accepted the book from her, opened to her last page, and with that accent she couldn’t get enough of, began reading quietly.

She studied him in silence and wondered if he was aware of the little things that made him so relatable. With Jaime Lannister, she had felt she was in the presence of someone who loved himself more than his client, and there had been a disconnect from the get-go. With Jon, you felt he was an intimate…friend. Someone simply content to spend a quiet afternoon with you instead of bragging on and on about inconsequential matters. Perhaps that was why he was #2 amongst his peers. With all the reviews on his profile page, it was clear his customers were left feeling more empowered, happy, or delighted with his services.

 _I wonder how many women he’s slept with,_ she thought as he flipped another page. _It must be in the hundreds by now…doesn’t he get exhausted?_

Which had her thinking of how good he really was in bed. From his body language, he was a man clearly comfortable in his own skin and wasn’t likely to be shy in the sack. Besides, weren’t these guys supposed to be open to anything and everything in the bedroom? Did that mean he was into BDSM and the such? Did it also mean-

“…Dany?”

She started as if goosed; glad he couldn’t see how red-faced she had become. She raised her hand in silent query.

“Are you okay?” he asked with genuine concern. “I’m not boring you with my reading, am I? I mean I get the subject matter is not exactly a swashbuckling adventure, but I have to admit learning about how your ancestors ruled Westeros is pretty intense shit.”

 _I know,_ she signed. _It’s why I’m reading it. Go on, please._

He did as told but try as hard as she could to concentrate, she kept being distracted by his every motion. Even being in one position, he moved; the twitch of his left hand upon his lap, which would clench and unclench every now and then, the slight tapping of his right leg at random moments, or how he tended to rub his bearded jaw absently as if in contemplation.

 _He’s got a lot on his mind,_ she would come to realize as she studied the lines formed on his forehead when he furrowed his brow briefly. Missandei had recounted his behavior the night of her ‘freak-out’, especially how (dis)stressed he had looked before their dinner ‘date’. Dany had sincerely hoped her behavior hadn’t fucked him up mentally, but Missandei had reassured her concerns. Revealing that Jon might have even exhibited signs of jealousy at the idea of Jorah living with her still brought a smile to her face. A part of her refused to believe he could actually feel that emotion for a man he hadn’t even met, but Dany figured Jon had a natural competitive streak.

_And what is he competing for anyway? It’s not as if we’re in an established relationship._

So, what exactly was this? This would be the fourth time Jon had been with her in just a few months, and aside from what his profile page revealed and what Missandei had told her, she knew nothing more about him. He probably knew more about her life than she would have cared for (Missandei could spin a yarn if you let her), so it wasn’t fair. It was her turn now.

She began to write on the board, figuring that would get his attention first before moving on to sign language. He looked up when she tapped his knee with the board.

WHERE DID YOU LEARN TO COOK LIKE THAT?

He looked surprised at the query, but soon chuckled sheepishly. “I had no formal lessons,” he confessed. “I just really liked tinkering in the kitchen and seeing what I could come up with, that’s all.”

YOU COULD BE A FIVE-STAR CHEF.

He laughed, and her breath caught at the sound. “Probably,” he agreed. “But nah, I’d get bored eventually, but thanks for the vote of confidence. It’s nice to know one of my talents is that appreciated.”

He seemed to pause, as if waiting for another query, but when he felt none was forthcoming, he lowered his gaze and prepared to continue reading. For a while, she clutched the board between her hands and wondered what she could ask next. He didn’t seem to be much of a talker – a vast difference from Jaime Lannister – but she wanted to know even more. She struggled to come up with another line of conversation, when she suddenly recalled an info on his profile page. She lowered the board and scribbled again.

TELL ME ABOUT WINTERFELL.

Jon blinked in surprise at the unexpected request, and it might have been her imagination, but she was sure a haunted expression filled those eyes for a moment. He cleared his throat and lowered the book to his lap.

“What do you want to know about it?” he asked politely. “It’s up north…cold as hell…lots of snow…”

She shook her head to stop him and frowned. He was bullshitting her, and she didn’t like it. When he sighed and rubbed a hand across his face in a weary gesture, she tensed.

“It’s not something I wish to talk about now,” he admitted with a wan smile. “Can you forgive me for not wanting to share that part of my life right now?”

WHEN THEN? She wrote. WHEN WE’RE MARRIED?

He chuckled despite the flood of color to his cheeks. “Tempting an offer as that is, I just…it’s a lot to take in, that’s all. I’m sorry, Dany.”

She nodded in understanding and shrugged, then tried again. YOU SAID YOU ARE GOOD WITH DOGS. YOU OWN ONE?

This topic seemed ease his discomfort, and he nodded eagerly. “A malamute like your trio here. His name is Ghost and he lives with me. Oddly enough, it was Jorah Mormont’s father who gave him to me.”

Dany’s eyes widened at this information. She wondered if Jorah knew about this, but then again, the older man never talked much about his family either. Was it just a northern thing for them to be so discreet about it?

Jon was currently pulling up pictures of his pooch on his phone, and he moved closer to show them to her. Dany gave a low sound of delight at the sight of the beautiful white dog with the unique red eyes. Drogon and his brothers might have sensed they had competition, for their tried to nudge their way between the couple to see the images as well. Dany pointed at a picture of the grinning dark-haired girl in most of the shots.

“My sister,” Jon explained with a tone in his voice she couldn’t miss. It was a tone of affection she couldn’t help feeling slightly envious of. Not so much at Jon for feeling that way, but at wishing that her own brother would have spoken of her in such a manner.

“She lives with me.” Jon chuckled and shook his head. “Believe it or not, and I apologize for even asking this, but she wanted to bring Ghost over to see you…someday. If that’s okay…”

She was nodding before he could finish. She signed that she’d love to have them both visit, just as long as Jon told her the rules of the mansion and all that.

“She’ll be thrilled to bits,” he said with a grin. “Thanks…I just assumed you…I mean…” He shifted restlessly. “You didn’t like seeing people and all that.”

 _Once upon a time, I might have,_ she signed. _But I am learning to be open again. It’s not always easy, but I’m trying everyday to be as normal as possible._

To her horror, she felt the sting of tears forming and she blinked them back as hard as she could. What on earth was there to cry about? That despite all her progress, a part of her would never be seen or considered socially acceptable? She suddenly wanted to apologize for being so weird and different; for not being able to walk around the grounds with him, or run, jump, or do any of the things his other clients did to make them fun and exciting. All she could offer him were stupid sign language or High Valyrian lessons, watching television, reading books, or playing with her dogs. She was never going to be as sexy, charming, or as delightful as his other –

“If you don’t consider yourself normal, then I must be a freak as well,” came the sudden quiet words that would have her looking up with widened eyes.

He was leaning forward with that damn knowing smile of such warmth and understanding, she really was going to burst into tears. What was wrong with her?

“So, let’s do something really freaky together, huh?”

She gasped and began to panic at how fast things were moving, only to blush as he laughed. “Trust me, not that…yet.” He winked playfully and pointed outside. “The rain has stopped, and the weather’s much cooler…no sun. Do you want to go out for a bit? Even if its on the patio back there…for a few minutes. What do you say?”

Every fiber in her being wanted to scream ‘no’, but when she found herself allowing him to grip the handles of her wheelchair to carefully push her toward said veranda, while chattering to her babies as if everything was perfectly fine, she tried hard not to shrink into herself as the glass doors loomed before her. She had to take slow steady breaths as he carefully drew back the curtains, and just when she felt she would scream at the sight of the sun, she was only rewarded with gloomy gray skies that posed no threat.

It took a few hard jerks of the handle, but the doors were finally pushed open.

_Oh…_

The sudden rush of fresh air almost made her light-headed, yet she couldn’t look away from what was before her. Yes, it was gloomy, but the world – most of the time – was usually seen through a thick pane of glass.

“Ready?” Jon whispered above her, and before she could answer, she was gently wheeled outdoors for the first time in months.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Jon asked as he came to a stop right before the stone railing. “But I’m not sure you can really see it in its full glory with that thing still on, Dany.”

She frowned then at what he was insinuating but was immediately distracted at the rush of ‘sound’ to fill her ears. All at once, she could hear the chirping of the birds, the sniffling of her curious dogs, the rustle of the leaves from the trees, even the rippling waves of the lake…and the loud thundering sound of her heartbeat. Never had it felt so loud and strong, and she had to place a hand against her chest as if hoping to contain it. This was what her Grandpa Aemon had tried to explain to her. This was the world as it ought to be heard, and nothing had ever sounded more beautiful to her.

All the same, Jon was being persistent again. He wanted her to take off her sunglasses. He was asking her to bare herself to him again, and while she searched his features for any sign of insincerity, she was disappointed at not finding an excuse to back away. His body language was not as tense as it usually was, and she had a sense that he had come to a decision to no longer pussyfoot around her. Whatever Missandei had told him, he was going to do things his way from now on, and if it meant forcing her to take those damn sunglasses off, so be it.

They both watched as a cardinal – it had to be a cardinal – hopped onto the railing. Jon whistled in appreciation at the sight and marveled at its bright red coloring. She could see it, but the shade of the sunglasses made it lose its full effect. It was one thing to see the bird in picture books or on T.V., but another to really appreciate its beauty in person. She hated to admit Jon was right. She had taken the first major step in coming outdoors…why not go all the way? Besides…

_It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before. You can do this, Dany. He’s not a threat…so just…_

She took another deep shuddering breath and counted slowly to ten, trembling fingers reaching up to first undo the knot of the scarf beneath her chin. It slid off her head before she could grab it, but the sensation of the cool air against her hair and scalp felt so good, she could barely control a sigh of pleasure. She carefully unwound the ponytail kept tied in a bun and allowed it to trail down to her chest in a snake-like motion. Her fingers moved to the straps of the mask around her ears to release them, and another sigh escaped her, this time due to really being able to inhale the rich smells surrounding her. When the sunglasses finally came off, she had to blink a few times to adjust her vision but was hit with another wave of shyness that had her gripping it tightly between her hands. She couldn’t look at him. She just _couldn’t_ and yet, as the cardinal – as if sensing something different about her – hopped onto the hand rest, she gasped in delight and marveled at its stunning shimmering hues of gold and red.

When it hopped a little and then fluttered its wings to eventually fly off, she would trail her gaze after it, unaware of the almost innocent expression of wonder on her features. So struck by what she had seen (and she might have grabbed her sketchbook to draw it), she completely forgot her reason for hiding her gaze and turned to the silent man beside her to gush about it.

Only for her hands to still in the process of picking up her chalkboard at the expression he was unable to hide quickly enough. This time, her heartbeat was a thunderous roar in her ears, and as she watched him bury his hands in the pockets of his pants and pace away as if unable to remain any closer to her -

_Jon Snow_

…Dany realized just how troubling the situation had become.

 

 

 

 

 


	7. Touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing to say but....*insert mindless screeching of delight here*  
> That is all *lol*  
> Enjoy! and as always know that your feedback is very much appreciated!

_Much thanks to @annagreengrass for the lovely moodboard!_

 

* * *

 

 

If he closed his eyes and strained hard enough, he was sure he could see and hear his late Uncle Benjen shouting instructions as the freezing waters of the White Knife threatened to swallow him whole.

 _Remember to breathe, Jon!_ came the impatient command from the river bank which appeared to be a million miles away. _Keep kicking your legs and keep your mouth closed! You’re trying to swim like a fish not become one!_

Unfortunately, this miniature version of himself had continued splashing in increased panic, arms and legs flailing as he ignored the snickers from his older brother Robb, who was already swimming just fine. Everything came easy for Robb, but as for him…he was going to die in here. There was no getting around it now. He should have pretended to be sick and stayed home, but no, he just had to dragged out here for lessons he wasn’t interested in.

He gave a soundless scream as he felt the swirling waters engulf and drag him beneath the surface. He wheezed as it rushed into his gasping mouth, as he struggled to breathe, and as his lungs continued to fill with the arctic fluid until his vision went dark.

He would come to on land with a concerned Robb, and sobbing Sansa, peering at him while his Uncle scowled and shook his head in disappointment.

 _Wonder what he’ll think of me now,_ Jon mused as he chopped the leeks slowly. _He’ll surely cuff me on the head and tell me I’m acting like a damn fool._

He sighed and tossed the vegetable into the saucepan along with already chopped garlic. As he began stirring them, his thoughts drifted to all that had happened in the last half-hour.

_Seven hells, just half-an-hour?_

It felt like an eternity had gone by, and it all started from her surprising decision to simply take it all off. The most he had hoped was for the removal of the sunglasses alone. However, being rewarded with that scarf being undone and seeing that thick mane of spun silver – almost bordering on pure white hair – trailing down her chest…or those lovely full pink-tinted lips lifting ever so slightly in a timid smile…you might as well have tossed him back into the White Knife all over again.

_I couldn’t fucking breathe._

The gods knew he had seen his share of stunning women over the years, but there was just _something_ about Dany that seemed to put them all to shame. From the moment he saw her portrait, to seeing the live version (at last!), that _something_ was difficult to articulate to anyone.

It was a classic case of having to see it to believe it.

And it just wasn’t the breathing issues that had overwhelmed him, but the immediate, impulsive, almost desperate need to _touch_ her. He had felt his fingers literally twitching, and it had taken all his strength to form fists that were stuffed deep into his pockets as he walked away before making a buffoon of himself. He sincerely hoped she hadn’t caught him gawking. If his thinking faculties had been functioning, he would have complimented her exquisite features, but the dogs started barking in excitement effectively breaking the ‘moment’ and forcing them to acknowledge what had gotten their attention.

It was only a motorboat cruising the lake, and though it was hard to make out the couple on it, they were friendly enough to wave in greeting as they sped past. Either way, it was enough to shatter the brief moment of awkwardness between them. Jon, for the life of him, couldn’t remember whatever they might have talked about afterwards, but she chose to remain outside when he suggested they go back indoors.

 _I’ll stay a little bit longer,_ she had signed. _Don’t worry. I won’t run away or try to wheel myself into the lake._

The imagery had him laughing before he could stop himself, and her giggle didn’t exactly help either. With the mask gone, it was clearer – a light almost breathless sound that made him want to capture it forever with his lips-

“Fuck!” he cursed as the stench of burning vegetables, and billowing smoke, suddenly filled the air. He lowered the heat and all but flung the saucepan off the burner in disbelief. Rhaegal, who had chosen to keep him company, raised his head off his paws and cocked it to the side as if wondering why the human was muttering angrily to himself.

Jon knew he would have to start all over again. Good thing the leeks were already pre-packaged, and he wouldn’t have to spend precious time washing out the dirt. Still mumbling about his absentminded behavior, he opened the back door to let in some fresh air. From down here, one could barely make out the terrace, but curiosity had him heading in that direction anyway – being careful not to be seen (caught) peeking. When he felt he was close enough without alerting Drogon and Viserion, he craned his neck to check.

She was still there.

_Thank the gods._

For though it was great progress she had even agreed to come outdoors, he was still concerned about sensory overload. Missandei had warned, in her notes, that he could be firm and encouraging, but just enough. If she was adamant on simply not doing anything, he wasn’t to push her. So far, Dany had gone willingly with all his suggestions, but it wasn’t to say she couldn’t have any ‘side-effects’ from overexposure…whatever those might be.

_What is she doing though?_

He couldn’t be sure, but it looked like she was scribbling something on a notebook…no…it was a sketchpad, because her pencil was flying across its page as she studied something in the distance.

_That’s right. Missandei did mention something about her being an artist as a child. Guess old habits die hard, huh?_

The sunglasses were now perched on top of her head, those striking violet eyes squinted in concentration as she frowned and studied the page. He watched as she licked the tip of her little finger and began to smudge the sketch, and now his curiosity was definitely piqued as to what she might be drawing. A part of him was tempted to call up and ask, but he knew he had to stop acting like a creep and get back to work. Lunch should have been ready ages ago. Making potato leek soup wasn’t the hardest thing in the world, and she might start asking questions.

When he was finished, he made his way to the terrace, stopping long enough to cough and make his presence known.

“Lunch is ready,” he said with a smile as she lowered the sketchpad to her lap. He was able to see the hint of a beak, and when she noticed him staring, she lifted it slowly as if dreading his response.

“Wow,” he whistled in appreciation. “ _That_ is amazing, Dany.”

And it really was. It was the cardinal they had seen earlier, and though the bird had flown off somewhere, her memory was sharp enough to recall the details; down to the tiny brown spots beneath its left breast. It looked so life-like, Jon shook his head in disbelief. “You are self-taught?”

She frowned in confusion, and Jon tried explaining. “Your art. You had no professional training, right?”

She shook her head and tucked the sketchpad into the bag of knickknacks draped at the side of the wheelchair. She signed that she was self-taught as Jon began pushing her into the house and she might have continued on about her craft when the smell of lunch caused her stomach to growl… _loudly_.

He chuckled at the sound and was rewarded with the chalkboard hitting his arm playfully, her features flushed in delightful embarrassment. When he was sure she was comfortable at the dining table, he excused himself to go feed the dogs, failing to notice the brief conflicted expression on her features as the kitchen door closed behind him.

As the dogs happily munched on their meal, Jon hopped onto a kitchen stool and decided to get his mind off a certain female…for a few minutes at least. He pulled out his phone and sent a text to Arya – letting her know of the good news. He had assumed she’d be somewhere with her new boyfriend, but when he got her immediate excited response, he couldn’t help grinning.

 **Tomorrow???** he typed incredulously at her request. **Already??? Are you nuts?!**

**When else? It’s not like u are going to live there forever. Besides, this might be the last weekend u spend with her. Can’t miss this opportunity.**

Jon paused at that. Arya did have a point. There was no guarantee he’d be called again, and with Jorah Mormont returning, this was probably going to be Dany’s last chance for a ‘fling’ before settling down with that guy. He doubted she’d want to continue their relationship after this or keep paying such an exorbitant price for him anyway.

Not that it would bother him…much.

 **I’ll let her know,** he typed back with a barely audible sigh. **But I’m not making any promises.**

**Cool! Can Gendry come?**

**Don’t push your luck, Needle.**

Though he had sent the text, and was ready to end the conversation, his fingers continued to hover over the keypad as even more words raced through his mind.

_Say, Needle…would you laugh at me if I told you something else? You remember me telling you about emotional attachments to my clients, and how we’ve been trained not to get in too deep? Well, you wouldn’t believe what happened to me this afternoon. I mean it’s not like I’m saying I’m already nuts about her, but…I’m not really sure if I can handle the rest of the weekend if seeing her face all the time is going to be such a proble-_

The one-sided mental texting ended at the sudden sound of the kitchen door opening. He looked up with a start, assuming one of the dogs was on their way out. However, his jaw might have dropped somewhere on the floor when it turned out to be the very subject of his thoughts wheeling herself in with a sheepish expression on her visage and an empty bowl on her lap.

As her dogs circled her in greeting, she managed to raise the bowl above Viserion’s head and motion towards the stove.

Jon raised a brow. “You want…you want some more?”

She nodded like a kid being asked if they wanted a barrelful of their favorite candy. It was all Jon could do not to smile at the adorable picture she painted.

“You could have just rung the bell,” he admonished lightly as he got off the stool and took the bowl from her, being careful not to let their fingers touch for fear he might send the dish toppling to the floor. “But I’m glad you like it,” he continued as he approached the stove. “I think your suggestion to add that spice from Tyrosh made a world of difference. In fact…”

He turned with the filled bowl in hand and was stumped into silence as he noticed she had moved toward the cozy dining nook – which on a sunny day would be a perfect place to enjoy a meal – to make herself comfortable. She would eventually look up when he stopped speaking, and though her features were still flushed with either embarrassment or bashfulness, there was an unmistakable glint of stubborn determination in her eyes. It was as if she was silently daring him to question her decision to no longer eat in the main dining room.

It would be his turn to turn a dull shade of crimson, when she mimed for him to close his mouth and to bring her food already. Only then did his leaden feet finally move, and it was a damn miracle he still held onto the bowl at all. With the dogs now restless with their need to do their business outdoors, Jon was forced to stop staring and attend to them. There was really no need to stand watch as the trio raced outside for a bit, but for some unfathomable reason, he now felt incredibly coy being alone with her. Going back to her was going to be agonizing, and all the goddamn training on how to start up conversations with his clients, get to sweet talk them into dropping their panties or eating out of your hands, were non-existent. He was now simply Jon Snow from Winterfell; the uncool, sullen kid from the North who couldn’t talk his way out of a paper bag.

_Fuck my life…_

The sudden banging of her spoon on the table forced him to turn quickly. She was motioning toward his still unfinished meal, and then pointing to the seat across her.

 _Join me,_ _you dumbass_ (probably) was her unspoken request, and powerless to her demands, he nodded and did as told.

It wasn’t until his third scoop of the soup into his mouth, did she finally tap his hand with her chalkboard. Seven hells, he hadn’t even heard her writing.

STOP HIDING YOUR FACE, she stated. THIS ISN’T EASY FOR ME EITHER.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered and shifted restlessly on his seat. “I…it’s just…”

She shook her head and shrugged lightly before miming her understanding. She changed topics by motioning out the windows, where a light drizzle was falling again. She mimed yawning and snuggling against pillows, and Jon smiled in agreement.

“Yeah, I know what you mean. Perfect hot chocolate and sitting by the fire with your favorite book weather, right?”

Her face lit up as she nodded. She mimed painting or sketching as well, and Jon’s curiosity was piqued again. “I’d love to see your other works…if it’s okay with you of course.”

She lowered her lashes and began tracing an invisible line on the table with the tip of her spoon, her cheeks pink at the notion of anyone being interested in her art. Jon saw the opening and seized on it. “With that bird you drew, I’m sure you’ve got other fantastic stuff lying around. It would be an honor to see the rest of your work, Dany. Honest.”

She seemed to wrestle with this for a moment, before taking a deep breath and digging into her bag. She pulled out the sketchbook and handed it to him, and just as quickly lowered her head again as if unable to watch him appraise her work. Luckily, her dogs would return to keep her mind off him, while he flipped through the pages and marveled at her talent.

 _She could sell in a freakin’ art gallery and make even more money with her stuff,_ he thought in awe as he stared at a portrait of a smiling Missandei. Down to the soft curls of her head, Dany had studied enough of her best friend to capture the very essence of the Naathi. No one could deny the love and attention given to every line and shaded angle. There were other images of Missandei in various poses and with various expressions, sketches featuring her children – Drogon sleeping, Viserion leaping with a ball in his mouth, Rhaegal standing on his hind legs and staring out the window, a few featuring an older man – probably in his mid-forties – with a face that wasn’t particularly handsome but hardened enough to capture one’s attention. He looked kind, but that firm mouth told of a man who could also lash out when provoked. Jon took a stab in the dark in assuming these were sketches of Jorah Mormont. It wasn’t difficult to see some resemblance to his father, Jeor, especially around the eyes. Ignoring the brief flash of jealousy to sear through him, the emotion was tempered at the sight of sketches of people Dany must have come across or observed; a smiling old man dressed in tattered robes, a woman and her daughter walking hand in hand, two boys kicking a soccer ball, and others in the same vein. In addition were several inanimate objects; the usual still life studies of flowers, furniture and the like, and the latest being a sketch of the cardinal they had seen earlier.

Jon whistled again. “These are stunning. You’re ten million times better than some of the art I’ve been forced to see at some shows.”

She asked with her hands. _You don’t like art shows?_

He winced and shrugged lightly. “Not really. I mean I can appreciate them, but I wouldn’t go out of my way to visit if I can help it. I’ve had a couple of art gurus for clients, that’s why…”

His words trailed off. Somehow, suddenly mentioning his ‘clients’ seemed to put a damper on things, and perhaps she noticed his discomfort as she tucked the sketchbook into the bag again. Still, she made light of it by slurping the last of her soup, raising the bowl to her mouth and actually licking off the rest before finishing with a loud and unladylike burp.

Jon snorted as she grinned at him, and if he could reach across the table to hug her for being able to make him feel better with her silly little antics, he would. Unfortunately, he had to form fists on his lap to keep himself in check and nod as she mimed that she was going to take a nap while thanking him for a great lunch.

He would escort her to the elevator, but just before she went in, she told him of the box of tapes she had left in the living room. Apparently, they were recorded lessons in High Valyrian, something Missandei had made for her while they lived in Braavos. She also encouraged him to use the library – a room he hadn’t even noticed (probably because the doors had been closed all this time) – if he needed someplace quiet to study. And with a final query to make sure he was okay with being alone for a while, she waved her goodbye with Drogon keeping her company.

He was still able to see her arrive on the second floor and enter her room, and it dawned on him that she would have to get into bed somehow. She didn’t sleep in her wheelchair obviously, so how was she able to get up if she couldn’t walk?

 _No…wait a minute. It’s not that she can’t walk at all,_ he reminded himself. _It’s just that she can’t walk or stand for too long._

Still, he chose to leave the doors to the library open in case of an emergency. There was no way he could hear her falling from down here, but at least the dogs would be able to alert him if nothing else. Besides, Missandei had written that Dany had a button in her room she could press should she need help. It was supposedly loud enough for everyone in the house to hear.

As for the library…

_Whoa. Someone had definitely loved his books._

It was a bookworm’s haven. With two reading tables next to the windows, where Jon could picture a young Dany working hard on homework or something, a cozy nook complete with window seats giving one a great view of the backyard and lake, a large unlit hearth where a powerful portrait of a leaping stallion sat above it, and a portable large chalkboard tucked away in the corner, everything else was simply made up of books. Instead of walls, were ceiling to floor shelves stacked with all sorts of literature; some so old Jon was sure The Citadel would love to get their hands on them. Well, considering who Aemon Targaryen had been – a grand maester of said Citadel – was it any wonder he had access to such a collection?  There were two mobile ladders to help one reach for books too high, and Jon was tempted to climb one of them to explore what secrets were held within those ancient pages.

_Maybe later…_

He had to begin his lessons, and as he set up his study space by the window – just as his companions Rhaegal and Viserion trotted in to settle at his feet like the world’s fluffiest foot rests (though he doubted they’d appreciate him using them as such) – he found the old-fashioned tape recorder and put the headphones on.

In no time, Missandei’s soothing voice filled his ears as she lectured him on the differences between High and Bastard Valyrian…

 

* * *

 

She found him fast asleep in the library, though for a panicked moment, she assumed he had passed out. The headphones lay askew on his mop of black hair, with Missandei’s voice still droning hauntingly in the background. She was ready to tap him awake with her chalkboard but found herself lowering it slowly to observe him.

In repose, he looked even younger and more vulnerable though every now and then his brows would crease into a frown as if having bothersome dreams. There was a faint scar above his right eye, and she wondered what must have caused it in the first place. Jorah usually told her stories of how harsh the winters could get in the north, and she wondered if Jon had probably slipped and fallen on hard ice as a child. His, somewhat, effeminate lashes fluttered with every breath he expelled. His nose wasn’t quite as straight when studied this close, but it spoke of a man who had either been in his share of fights or had fallen one too many times on his face. His beard was well-trimmed and neat, and for some weird reason she wanted to caress the moustache right above his upper lip…

_Or maybe you just want an excuse to touch his lips, Dany. Admit it. You’ve been fascinated with them from the get-go._

It wasn’t so much fascination as just plain curiosity at how good they were when put to use. Was he a good kisser? He probably was with a lower lip that full and tempting. They were parted now in sleep, the warmth of his breath fluttering toward her face until she had to pull back at just how damn close she was. If he opened his eyes now, there was no doubt he’d wonder if she was insane.

Drogon whimpered and looked back and forth between them. Perhaps wondering if it was okay to wake up the male human since his mother wasn’t planning on doing so anytime soon.

 _Let him sleep,_ she would eventually sign to her dogs as she slowly wheeled herself out of the room again. _Goodness knows I’ll tease him to death about it when he wakes up._

It wasn’t until she was in the living room, did she realize she’d been humming to herself. It was a song she loved as a child; a catchy showtune about a girl with big dreams of becoming a movie star. Chuckling at her subconscious choice of that particular song, she flipped through the channels looking for something to watch. Perhaps it was due to experiencing the outdoors, having one of the best naps she’d had in a while, or realizing she no longer had to put on the production of covering her face before meeting him – and she had actually begun doing it once she was awake before stopping herself – but she was in a good mood all around.

_I’ve revealed myself, and unless I’m becoming terrible at reading body language, he’s not repulsed by what he’s seen._

All the opposite in fact, for Jon seemed to have brief ‘lost’ expressions on his face whenever she thought she wasn’t paying attention to him. While that persistent tiny voice within insisted that she ought to remain in hiding, the new voice shrieked with girlish delight at the idea that she was affecting him just as much as he was. However, she knew it was terrible to feel these things – this fluttering in her stomach, her quickening pulse when he laughed, or wanting to ‘accidentally’ brush her fingers against his – because it was a relationship that was superficial. When this was all over, it was onto the next client, and there was no time for foolish fantasies of him choosing her over his lifestyle. All of that was reserved for the movies.

So why had she stupidly applied cherry lip gloss before coming downstairs? She never bothered with makeup, despite Missandei using her as a canvas for her entertainment sometimes, so why this urge to ‘pretty’ herself for Jon? It was just so… _not her_ at all.

Blushing furiously, she was just about to wipe it off when Rhaegal’s barking had her stiffening in awareness.

_Oh dear gods, he’s awake! Look down, don’t look up. Do not look…!_

“You’re awake,” he hailed with a weak attempt at stifling a yawn. “Sorry, I was just so into the lessons that-”

He stopped at her snicker and raised a brow in bemusement. Smirking, she scribbled quickly and held up the board making sure it covered the lower half of her face. He turned a brilliant shade of red and sputtered in embarrassment.

“I…I was…I didn’t…you didn’t wake me?! Seven hells! And I was drooling and everything!”

She gave up then and laughed out loud, and even her dogs were surprised at the sound for they all stared at their mother with almost comical tilts of their heads in unison. She dropped the board and waved her hands before her face to control herself, but the more she tried to stop, the more the giggles came. Just recalling him looking so cute in sleep and probably waking up with the notebook stuck to his face – thanks to his drool – had her cackling even louder. Tears filled her eyes and she had to take deep breaths to steady herself. She could vaguely hear him saying something, and with an effort, she wiped her tears and forced herself to listen, finally looking up to catch a gaze that sent her pulses racing for a whole other reason.

_Oh…_

Her laughter would fade at the sudden rush of heat to flare through her. She had seen variants of that same look from the few men in her life; the looks that came before they either took her roughly (the _khal_ and Viserys) or force themselves to turn away (Jorah). In this case, Jon was no longer trying to hide his blatant yearning, and it was all she could do not to flee from its searing intensity.

“That has got to be the most beautiful sound in the world,” came the barely audible words that made her knees feel like jelly; akin to how they usually felt before she would have a fall. Lucky she was sitting at this moment. “The gods know I’d love to hear it often,” he added as if speaking more to himself than to her.

 _If he dares come to me now, I’ll scream,_ she thought with her heart beating a wild staccato. _Please don’t come any closer…but then again, I do want you to come closer, but if you do, I’ll probably combust and…_

“I should go get the things ready for dinner,” he said instead as he glanced at his watch. “The day’s gone by so fast, eh?”

_Ah…_

Disappointment washed over in an icy wave, and she could do nothing but nod slowly and watch him walk away. She wondered if she had given him the wrong impression. Had he noticed her panic and felt it best to leave while he could?

A hand crawled to her neck and made as if to choke herself, but she simply caressed her throat and not for the first time, wished she could force herself to release all those damn words she so longed to say out loud.

When the bell summoned her later, she was sure their interaction would be filled with more uneasiness and awkward pauses. However, she was pleased to see him in a relatively casual mood. He joked about how the peach roses looked more like peach puddles tonight (though they were still just as delicious), and then shyly brought up the topic of his sister wanting to see her tomorrow.

“I told her it was ridiculous, being so sudden and all, but-”

 _I don’t mind,_ she signed with a smile. _I can’t wait to see her and Ghost._

 _Besides, it would be a great way to break this growing tension between us,_ she thought with an inner sigh as he excused himself to let the dogs out for their final potty run of the day. _We can’t seem to even look at each other anymore without giving away what we really want, and I’m sure you’ll be willing if I stopped being such a coward._

She didn’t help matters by choosing to go straight to bed afterwards.

“Is everything all right?” he asked with a frown of concern. “I thought you’d want to watch a little T.V. or just talk…”

She shook her head stubbornly and pretended to yawn with an apologetic smile. _Long day,_ it conveyed, to which he nodded though she was sure there was still doubt on his features. She managed to scribble out a –

THANKS FOR AN INTERESTING DAY. I’LL SEE U IN THE MORNING.

And not waiting to see his reaction, she fled into the safety of her bedroom, but only to wheel herself to the window with tears in her eyes and a heart now aching with the weight of its silent misery.

 

* * *

 

Saturday dawned with Rhaegal and Viserion nudging him awake or more like sitting on his torso and nearly suffocating him. His autopiloted reprimand had been geared toward ‘Seven hells, Ghost! Get off me!’ Only to recall that he was one, nowhere near his apartment, and two, said Ghost (and Arya) was going to visit him today.

Exciting, right?

Except as he brushed his teeth and prepared for the day, all he could think about was how ‘weird’ things had ended between him and Dany last night. It wasn’t as if he had expected them to go hopping into bed or anything, but damn if hearing her laughter – an actual _laugh_ and not some giggle or breathless chuckle – hadn’t done a number on him. That laugh had been a dead giveaway of just how she might sound if she chose to speak. She might not even be aware of it; that her ability to do so was _still_ there – and if he had been able to make her laugh that loud, what were the odds that she could finally say a word or two to him before the weekend was over?

 _Fuckin' hell,_ he mocked his reflection. _Just because you took her outdoors and made her laugh, you assume you can make her speak too? Next thing you know you’ll be the one making her walk and run, Jon Snow. Get real._

Get real, huh? How much more real could he get than spending the night tossing and turning restlessly as every second was spent reliving that moment and wishing he could have captured that happy sound within his mouth. The urge to kiss and hold her was becoming too overwhelming, and he banged his forehead gently against the bathroom door, a low groan of frustration escaping his lips as his body thrummed for a release only she could give him.

Arya couldn’t get here fast enough in his opinion.

Bypassing Dany’s room, he was almost relieved to see her door still closed. He skipped down the stairs, with the dogs racing after him as if enjoying a game, until he opened the front door to let them out. The weather was still cool, but there were traces of sunlight filtering through the gray early morning clouds. Hoping it wouldn’t get too sunny, he made his way into the kitchen to prepare breakfast. Arya had sent him a text to say they would be arriving around ten, and despite his argument against bringing Gendry, she had ignored him completely…as usual.

He set the table in the kitchen and taking a deep breath pep talked himself into having the balls to go wake her up. Fortunately, his dilemma was solved when the door opened, and she wheeled herself in. It would take him a moment to realize there was something different about her today, and when he could shut his mouth long enough to get his mind to work straight, he realized it was her hair. Unlike the tight braid she had worn yesterday, today it was kept in a high ponytail that left the curled silver tresses to frame her face, down to her back and chest. She was also not covering with a shawl, and without it, the cream-colored cashmere turtleneck sweater emphasized a full bosom any hot-blooded male could appreciate. Her lower half was still shielded with the blanket and matronly shoes, but otherwise –

YOU ARE STARING AGAIN, her chalkboard read, though there was a pretty blush on her cheeks. And was it his imagination or was she actually wearing a little makeup today?

_Seven hells…she plans on killing me._

“My apologies,” he finally managed to get out with a smile. “You make it impossible not to.” He cleared his throat and turned away before he said something else foolish. “Breakfast is ready, and my sister will be here in a couple of hours.”

But Arya, true to form of being unpredictable as hell, showed up an hour too early.

Jon was waiting on the front porch with the trio of malamutes guarding him, though he was sure they were merely sniffing out the new competition in the form of Ghost, who was already barking in excitement as he spotted his master.

“Heya, Jon!” Arya greeted as she bounded out of the passenger’s side with Ghost in tow. Gendry came out more slowly, his dark eyes looking at everything and everywhere at the same time as is if unable to believe he was in such a place.

“Hey, Needle,” Jon greeted and then fell to his haunches to hug his pooch in greeting. “And you too, big fella. I’ve missed you.” He placed a hard kiss on Ghost’s head and then pulled away as his attention turned to his fellow canines. “Ah? See those three? They’re going to be your new buddies. Now go make friends with them and play nice.”

The humans watched as Drogon, Viserion, and Rhaegal seemed to encircle Ghost; sniffing and low growling as they appraised each other in that language only they could speak.

“You think they’ll accept him?” Arya asked as she began taking pictures of them with her phone.

“They are probably just marking their territory and letting him know they’re the ones in charge here,” Jon replied with amusement as he smiled at Gendry and shook his hand in greeting. When he was sure Ghost wasn’t going to get into a fight – at least with Drogon who was still giving him the side-eye of distrust – he ushered them into the house-

“Whoa…why is it so gloomy in here…ouch!” Gendry hissed as Arya had jabbed him in the ribs.

“Remember what I told you in the car,” she hissed as they approached the living room where Dany was waiting. She might have said something else but was stumped into silence when Dany turned to face them.

Gendry’s ‘holy shit’, was enough to convey what they all thought.

She literally looked like a princess, or Queen, or someone who ought to be sitting on a throne somewhere instead of a wheelchair. Hell, she even made the equipment look like the most expensive thing in the world.

“Hi…hi,” Arya said in a voice Jon had not heard in a while. Was this the fierce and tom-boyish Arya Stark acting like a lovestruck teenager? Who did this trembling whispering voice belong to? “I’m Arya Stark. Jon’s sister.”

Dany smiled, scribbled quickly and held up her board. I KNOW. YOU LOOK EVEN PRETTIER IN PERSON.

Arya flushed in delight and might have continued staring when Gendry coughed beside her. “Oh, and this is Gendry…my boyfriend.”

“Nice to meet you, Miss Dany,” Gendry greeted and was just about to stick out his hand for a handshake when a glare from his girl had him tucking it into his pocket quickly.

Fifteen minutes later, Jon and Gendry found themselves sitting on the front steps, wondering how the girls had somehow kicked them out of their private chit-chat. After the introductions, Arya had promptly taken over and had chosen to push Dany onto the terrace by herself.

“And if it gets too warm, I’ll bring her back inside,” his sister had decreed. “Now go away and leave us alone.”

“I still don’t get how you want to be her boyfriend,” Jon sighed as he watched the four dogs frolic around the garden, though Viserion seemed more interested in chasing a squirrel.

Gendry chuckled and shrugged. “She’s not like any other girl. She’s…tough…and…cool. You know?”

Jon nodded in understanding at the genuine praise. “Yeah…I know exactly what you mean.”

“And that Miss Dany,” Gendry continued as he looked over his shoulder as if to make sure Dany wasn’t eavesdropping. “She’s tough too.”

Jon raised a brow at that and eyed the younger man. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean…she living here all by herself and all,” Gendry mused as his brows furrowed in thought. It was sometimes hard to articulate what his mind was filled with, and Arya had often teased him about being a big lummox. “I mean…she didn’t have to see us, you know? Because Arya told me about how she don’t like going outside or touching people, but see? She’s outside now and she don’t mind seeing us. I bet she don’t mind being touched either. If you touch her the right way I’m guessing.”

Gendry, perhaps realizing it was the most words he had spoken in a while, felt his cheeks burning at Jon’s amused stare.

“Huh,” Jon finally said with a low chuckle. “Looks like there might be hope for you yet, Mr. Waters.” He reached out to squeeze the other man’s shoulder. “You’re actually smarter than you let on.”

He rose to his feet and stretched. “Come on. Let’s go to the back and give those gals a hard time, eh?”

Gendry laughed and stood up as well. “Arya might kick our asses for doing so.”

“Let her dare try,” Jon sneered as he led the way. “I’ll remind her who her big brother really is.”

However, they probably needn’t had bothered for they could hear their giggles long before they were visible.

“Look!” Arya cried out when she noticed the men. She was holding a sheet of paper in her hand as she leaned over the stone railing. “Dany drew a caricature of me! Look at how big my ears and eyes are!”

“You mean that’s not how you really look?” Jon asked with confusion on his features. He got the middle finger, and a ‘you asshole!’ for that, barely missing the object sent flying his way. Luckily, it was just a small pebble he was able to dodge on time.

The rest of the afternoon was an enjoyable one, all things considered, and it was great to see Dany being pulled a little more out of her shell thanks to Arya’s infectious enthusiasm. When the sun began to make its presence known, they were forced to return indoors where they played card games over tall glasses of a fruity alcoholic beverage Gendry made. Apparently, it was what the kids in college guzzled these days, and it was actually quite good. Jon made lunch despite Arya’s offer to help, and they all ate in the kitchen with the dogs hovering around them for company. Jon was able to find an extra bowl for Ghost and all watched as the four miniature ponies helped themselves.

“Holy cow, it’s like keeping a stable here,” Gendry mocked. “Taking care of one is bad enough, but all four? You need a full-time dog trainer or something.”

THEY ARE WELL BEHAVED, Dany argued with a mock expression of indignance. AND SO IS GHOST.

As if sensing he was the topic of conversation, Ghost lifted his head and slowly padded toward Dany. It was only the second time he could do so, since the other dogs were quite possessive of their mother’s affection and had at least allowed him to greet her at initial contact. Since then, if he dared tried to get too cozy, they interrupted. Perhaps due to their focus on their meal, Ghost was able to nuzzle her lap with his nose and gave a low whine of pleasure as her gloved hand sank into his fur and rubbed gently.

Jon watched as she buried her face into his head like she did to her children, and not for the first time, his stomach lurched with that nervous flutter that made breathing a little more difficult. It wasn’t as if he considered Ghost his ‘child’, but the dog had been a part of him for years and was his closest companion and best friend second only to Arya. To see Dany connect with him so easily made his heart swell with an emotion he could not describe.

It was with tremendous effort that he finally turned away from the heartwarming sight, only to meet knowing grey eyes that had been watching him all this time. He blushed at the smile on his sister’s lips, and cursing beneath his breath, he muttered something about doing the dishes and rose unsteadily to his feet.

When he was finally done with the cleaning, again refusing his sister and Gendry’s help, he returned to the living room to see a scene he never imagined happening in his lifetime.

They were all watching a black and white musical on T.V. with Gendry flopped on Jon’s usual loveseat already dozing off. Arya was sitting at Dany’s feet, but not just siting there, actually _laying_ her head on Dany’s lap as if she had been doing that all her life! And with the four dogs – all in varying degrees of sleepiness – forming a rough semi-circle around them, Jon felt left out and…well, he hated to admit…damn envious.

Still, it was bittersweet to see Arya in such a position. For all his role as big brother, there was a void in her life he could never fill. She had lost her mother and older sister, and though they hadn’t been particularly close (for her stubbornness and unladylike behavior had exasperated them), Jon was sure she still longed for an older female role model she could connect with. Who better than a woman who was probably willing to be a big sister to someone else?

_And why the fuck do I feel like bursting into tears?_

Dany would finally notice him hovering at the doorway, and she waved for him to join them. He would have to pull up an extra chair, not having the heart to kick Gendry off his favorite spot and settle in to watch the movie which turned out to be a comedy that had them laughing at some parts. He noticed Dany mouthing the songs, perhaps unaware she was doing so, and Jon imagined how lovely her voice would be if she was able to sing again.

It wasn’t until Arya and Gendry were saying their goodbyes would his theories be proven right.

“She’s amazing. She told me she used to sing and dance when she was a kid,” Arya sighed as they watched Dany wheel back into the house with Drogon on her tail. She didn’t want to leave and had even considered returning tomorrow. “Oh, and by the way, she says I can still come visit her anytime I want, so there.”

“Lucky you, but you are most definitely _not_ coming back tomorrow,” Jon warned as he continued to pet Ghost. “So…what did you two talk about while you were out there by yourselves?”

“None of your business, you lovesick idiot,” came the retort that had him turning a deep shade of red.

“What the fuck are you talk-?”

“Told you he’d deny it, babe,” Arya flung to Gendry who was laughing as he slid into the driver’s seat with a knowing wink at Jon. She turned back to him with a smirk. “We both noticed. Seven hells, you two are hopeless.”

“ _We_ two? Now, listen Arya-”

“Yeah, yeah, your job says you can’t go falling for your clients etcetera etcetera, but geez, she wants you just as bad as you do. She might not have said it…I mean literally or otherwise, but whenever I talked about you, you’d think she was learning about national treasure.” Arya gave an exaggerated sigh of exasperation. “Uuuurgh. Anyway, if you haven’t done the deed with her yet, you might as well get started on it. You’ve got only one day left. Make the best of it, eh?”

She stood on her toes to place a kiss on his cheek before giving him a tight hug. “I love you, you big idiot brother.”

“Love you too,” he managed to choke out before squeezing back in kind and letting her go. He waved at them until the gates closed slowly behind the car, and it wasn’t until Viserion nudged his shin did he finally take a deep shuddering breath and make his way into the house again.

 _She wants me too, huh?_ he mused as he locked the doors and made sure everything was in order. Dany had already said she was calling it a night – it was almost nine in the evening – and as he trudged upstairs, he wondered how he was even going to approach the subject.

_I bet she don’t mind being touched either. If you touch her the right way I’m guessing._

And what exactly was the _right_ way? Hadn’t he tried touching her once and it had ended up with her shaking like a leaf? So how was he to go about it now? Go knocking on her door and begging her to let him fulfil this burning desire to _feel_ and _taste_ her? If she didn’t go screaming into the night with that brazen offer, nothing else would.

It would take him a minute to realize he had walked past his bedroom and was now staring at the darkened flight of steps leading to the third floor. He had never been there, but Dany hadn’t been against him exploring the house if he so chose.

“Let’s go exploring then, boys,” he said to Rhaegal and Viserion who had been following him. He was able to find the switch to brighten his way, and as he stepped onto the landing, it was really no different from the floor below. There were fewer doors, but it still had the array of paintings and antique furnishings like the rest of the house. Most of the doors were locked as he rattled each handle, but one eventually gave way and he was immediately assailed with the smells of dust and age.

He was in an office slash lab of some sort, and just like the library downstairs, its walls were not just lined with books – sometimes piled haphazardly, but there were ancient maps, anatomical drawings, and archaic text he couldn’t understand tacked to the wall. The dogs gave low whines of protest as they sniffed around the room, perhaps sensing the ghosts of those who had once occupied this space. Jon approached the dusty oak desk. Most of the books upon it were devoted to medicine, with one in particular focused on the human nervous system. Opening a bookmarked page revealed the last thing Maester Aemon must have been studying before he died – a way to make his precious great-great-grand niece walk again.

Jon could almost picture the old blind man – with the assistance of his most trusted advisor – pouring over the pages of every medical book hoping to find a cure. How many lonely hours had he spent in this claustrophobic room seeking answers? Had any of these empty bottles of medication – some with words he couldn’t even pronounce – left him in more despair at his failures?

With a shake of his head, Jon let himself out of the room and took a deep breath of fresh air. He might have decided to head downstairs, when he noticed the door a few feet away. It was hard not to notice anyway, for instead of the usual mahogany sheen of the others, this had been painted in white. Pasted at the top, in a semi-circle, were the words “DANY’S MAGIC PLACE” in flowery prints with flying butterflies around it. It was so childish and just so… _girly_ , it reminded him of his sister, Sansa, who had a room just like this in Winterfell – only hers hadn’t exactly been called a ‘magic place’.

Squashing down the painful memories, he assumed the door would be locked as well, but was pleasantly surprised to find it giving way as he turned the handle.

The smile came to his lips even before he stepped in completely.

Everything literally screamed ‘Dany!’

It wasn’t a large room, might have been used as storage at some point, but with the bright colors it was more spacious and ‘alive’. One side of the wall had been turned into a canvas, and Jon marveled at the world the young Dany had been able to create with her imagination. It was a land of pure fantasy filled with trees, rivers, mountains and several unrecognizable castles – except for the most prominent one in the forefront. There was no mistaking the famous Dragonstone, and even though photographs and video made it seem like an intimidating place, Dany had made her version more homely and magical. Instead of sneering dragons on the curtain walls, her dragons looked like they were eager to invite you for tea or have a chat if so inclined. However, all that paled in comparison to the poignant portrait of a happy royal family smiling from its doorway. There was a king, and queen, and two children…boy and girl…the perfect family she never had.

Swallowing down the lump that had formed in his throat, he focused his gaze on the rest of the room. He took in the neatly arranged musical instruments; a guitar, flute, a violin, and a portable keyboard piano. All sat beside piles of musical sheets and books dedicated to the craft. There was a small white table and two stools, and on the shelves beside it where neatly arranged sewing kits, fabric, yarn, drawers filled with buttons, glitter and other knickknacks Sansa would have loved (for she had been a seamstress in the making as well). There was a wardrobe filled with colorful and creative costumes fit for a little girl, and a couple of large boxes stacked with accessories and props for her performances.

Jon hoped someone had the foresight to record Dany back then. He would kill to watch any of those shows she must have worked hard on.

As impressive as it was, the section devoted to her art took up the most space. There was a large easel propped against the wall, and two small ones beside it, piles of sketchbooks, canvases, and of course all the paints, brushes, crayons, pastels, pencils and so much more that an artist would ever need, all arranged neatly on another set of shelves. There were several finished watercolors, mostly of landscapes, shoved into a corner. There was an unfinished oil painting of an old man with kind features, though his eyes were milky white and unseeing. This was probably a painting of Maester Aemon, but Dany had only gotten as far as his jawline before stopping for whatever reason. It made for a haunting portrait all around.

Turning away from the paintings, he picked the first sketchpad he could reach and began flipping the pages. Again, he was amazed at how detailed her work was, and would have marveled at being able to do so much at such a young age, when he noticed the dates on them. These were all fairly recent! It could only mean that she _still_ came up here, though he imagined it would be hard to maneuver the wheelchair in such a space. However, if she still used this room then –

_Whoa…wait a minute._

He had to blink and do a double take for he wasn’t sure if he was actually hallucinating or…

_I don’t believe it._

For staring back at him – well technically it was a side view – was a detailed sketch of _him_. Hair, beard, nose, eyes…everything. It was really him!

_I don’t fucking believe it._

He assumed he ought to feel violated or upset with her decision to do something like this without his permission. However, as he flipped to the next page with trembling fingers and a heart that was beginning to pound just a little harder, he would discover even more sketches of himself. Some were mere outlines, but one or two were as detailed as the first, and they all seemed to capture him in some mood; thoughtful, smiling, or just…

_Honest._

He couldn’t remember sitting on a chair, but like a ton of bricks smashing into him, he now realized just what made Dany’s sketches so emotionally charged. It was the blunt honesty in them; the brutal bare-bones ability to capture what _truly_ lay beneath the façade of the people or even the animals she drew. He had taken tons of photographs and had seen his face a million times in the mirror, but it wasn’t until something wet fell onto his hand did he realize he was weeping silently. He cursed beneath his breath as another tear smudged the page, and despite his desperate attempt to wipe it off, he winced as he realized he was still ruining it anyway.

_Goddamn it. I never do anything right, do I?_

All those times she must have observed him behind the safety of her sunglasses. Why else was she able to ‘see’ him like this; that beneath the layer of self-confidence and shallow airs, was a man still struggling to find himself. How had she _known_?

Rhaegal would nuzzle and lick his hand gently, and with a sniffle Jon placed a hard kiss on his head in gratitude. “I’ll be fine, buddy,” he croaked and wiped his face quickly. “Just…it’s just been a tough day already and-”

**BZZZZZ!**

Jon nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden loud sound, and it wasn’t until Rhaegal and Viserion started barking and running out of the room, did he realize it was Dany probably needing help. With a muttered curse, he tossed the sketchbook aside and raced after them, his mind filled with harrowing images of her lying on the floor, bleeding from a gash to the head, or perhaps unable to –

“Dany!” he called out as he pushed her door open and stared frantically around the bedroom he had fantasized seeing under different circumstances. Pity his chief concern was with her safety to worry about how pretty (yet relatively ordinary) it looked. Her empty wheelchair sat solemnly by the window, and Jon could feel the panic begin to set in.

“Dany?! Where are you?!”

A banging sound came from the bathroom, and Jon dashed inside with his heart in his throat.

_Oh dear gods, she’s dying. She’s bleeding to death! She’s about to-!_

Drogon was doing his best to nudge her up and barked to Jon as if reporting what must have happened. Jon, for his part, took one look at the situation and figured it out. The small space was still humid and foggy with the steam from her shower, and he was quick to see that there was a specially made bath stool in the tub for her convenience. There were also hand rails along the walls, and sturdy mats on the floor to maintain her balance while she walked, but she must have either stepped out too fast or hit her foot against the tub to lose her balance. Whatever the case, she was not bleeding (thank the gods), and sitting in an upright position with the tub as a backrest.

There were tears of either pain or frustration in her eyes as she waved her hands and tried to explain, but Jon was shaking his head in understanding.

“Don’t worry, Dany. I got it,” he said as he stooped to his haunches. “Can you wrap your arms around my neck or shoulders? I need to lift you up, okay?”

She nodded and did as told, her arms snaking their way around his neck and gripping onto him for dear life as he rose carefully to his feet, now cradling her against his chest like a child. He would vaguely appreciate how sweet she smelled; citrusy with a hint of rosewater. Also, she was making his shirt wet thanks to her hair, but that was no big deal. It wasn’t until he set her gently upon the comfy queen bed, with its cozy colorful quilt, did it dawn on him that one, she was clad only in a towel, and two, he had actually _touched_ her - and vice versa - and no one had died yet.

If the widening of her eyes was any indication, she was now aware of it too.

_Fuck!_

Jon knew his time was up. He had to leave… _now_.

“I should…” he began in a voice that sounded as if he was a relative to a frog. He cleared his throat and struggled to look at anywhere but at the expanse of pale flesh being exposed (at least to him) for the first time in…well, months. She had her hands clasped tightly on her lap, though it did little to hide the fading scars on her wrists; a harsh reminder of what she had done while kept prisoner all those years ago. Her upper body was just as normal as anyone else’s, but he would have been a fool not to notice that her legs were not quite the same. Perhaps due to lack of exercise or little use, they looked weaker…almost frail. He sincerely hoped she hadn’t broken anything with the fall.

“I should probably leave,’ he repeated himself and took a step back. “Do you…do you need me to get you anything or are you okay?”

With her gaze trained somewhere on the floor, she gave a timid nod, causing the damp strands of her washed hair to slap against her skin gently.

“Okay…well…if you need anything, just…buzz…I’m right down the hall.”

_LeaveleaveleaveleaveleaveJonSnow! Why are you still dawdling as if hoping she’d ask you to stay?_

Cursing inwardly at his irrational thoughts, he spun on his heels to make his escape, when his breath was stolen at the sudden sensation of a soft hand reaching for his…and holding on tight.

_Dany…?_

He turned then and was met with her still lowered head, though she was biting on her lower lip as if worried about his reaction to her sudden bold move. Her features were as red as his probably was, but he didn’t withdraw from the contact and waited with bated breath for her next move.

 _Please,_ he begged feverishly within. _For both our sakes, Dany._

She squeezed his hand once…twice…gentle pressures that spoke volumes. He took a trembling breath and took a step closer.

Her other hand joined the first, and Jon watched in silent awe as she slowly turned it until his palm faced upward. She studied it as one would view an exotic object; perhaps marveling at the idea of holding onto a person she hoped she could eventually trust. Quivering fingertips traced the dark web-like lines on his flesh as if to understand what each meant. It took all his strength not to whimper at the pleasurable sensation to race down spine, while hoping that his body’s natural reaction to her meek caresses wouldn’t be misconstrued.

She did not help matters by slowly raising his palm to her cheek and closing her eyes. He stifled a low moan with her breathless sigh, and she made no attempt to stop his tender caresses of her smooth cheek, her chin, the crest of his thumb tracing the outline of her pouty lower lip, then trailing lower still to the swan-like curve of her neck where the staccato rhythm of her pulse matched his.

She exhaled again, but this time lifted her lashes to give him a look that dispersed any doubts as to what she really _needed_ from him.

 _Will you take me, Jon Snow?_ was the silent request, emphasized as she moved their joined hands toward the teasing glimpse of her cleavage barely hidden beneath the towel. 

She was nervous…and perhaps scared. He could sense it simmering beneath the surface like a beast eager to strike. He could try to talk her out of doing this, convince himself he was a decent man by preserving her ‘innocence’, but as he stared into those twin pools of swirling amethyst, he knew he was just as lost.

_May the old gods forgive me…_

For he was nothing more than a drowning man desperate for any means of survival, and only she could save him.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	8. A Whisper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, you asked for it and you got it! Longest chapter yet, and I hope it's worth the wait.  
> My sincere thanks, again, for all your support and encouragement  
> (and if you do not cheat, you'll see an extra lovely surprise at the end of the chapter)  
> Enjoy!  
> Seasons of my Love lyrics - © George R.R. Martin (all rights reserved)

__

_Thanks to the lovely @annagreengrass for the mood board!_

 

* * *

 

 

_Dany…_

Her name was a breathless moan from his lips as he sat heavily on the bed, almost as if his knees had buckled and the mattress was the only thing keeping him from collapsing to the floor. She felt the tremor go through him as he leaned closer still, and where their fingers were still entwined, his gentle squeeze as he held on tighter caused a shiver to ripple through her. His usual grey eyes were darkened with his passion, the tiny flecks of bronze swimming within them either a part of him or simply a seductive play of the glow from the lone lit lamp at her bedside.

She was powerless to pull away when his forehead met hers. She arched closer still as their warm breaths mingled as one from lips parted and trembling for a different kind of collusion. Her free hand brushed his cheek, finally feeling the unsurprising soft bristles of his beard against her flesh. His name was a silent gasp lodged deep in her throat as he pulled back a little, but just far enough for her to see that he meant to speak.

“I want to kiss you, Dany,” came the throaty whisper. “Every single inch of you if you’ll let me.”

If she hadn’t been blushing before, she was literally doing a good impression of a living inferno as his words cloaked her with its sincerity and urgency. She couldn’t remember tilting her head to give him better access, and with distant thoughts of Viserys’s sloppiness and the _khal’s_ brutal dominance for references on how a kiss should be, all faded into oblivion at the first teasing, seeking, and pleading sensation of Jon Snow’s lips upon hers.

_Oh…my…_

Unaware of the tension that had been building in her shoulders all this time, they began to sag in helpless surrender as he captured her lower lip and sucked like a man tasting something so sweet and succulent. His moan of satisfaction made something warm pool in the pit of her stomach and trickle down to the forming warmth between her clamped thighs. When he switched his attention to her upper lip, her mind raced with ways to reciprocate. She had never been given an opportunity to kiss in return, and though she practiced by herself, and watched enough romantic movies to get the gist of it, she still felt clumsy and awkward about it all. Swirling emotions of delight and confusion caused her to part her lips when he pulled away again to allow them to catch their breath.

Or that had been the plan at least, for when he swooped in again to take advantage of the opportunity, it was all Dany could do not to melt into a puddle at the shocking feel of his tongue thrusting into her mouth to seek hers. If he had shown signs of being thirsty for her earlier, this… _this_ was a man clearly showing just how long he had bottled up his need for more than something chaste between them. She whimpered and dug her fingernails into his shoulders, lashes fluttering closed as she tried to mimic his actions, allowing her tongue to brush, taste, and match his thirst for more. She didn’t even mind the constant friction caused by his beard against her sensitive skin for it was something she had dealt with while with the _khal_. A sensation she had once thought irritating and uncomfortable, now felt like soothing bristles of warmth against her skin.

He was a taste of sweet wine and spices, of power, and of wonder. Her head was beginning to swim, and that warm trickle forming in that most sacred yet violated place between her thighs was now making her hitched towel damp with its sinful fluids. A part of her was terrified at how wet she already was, but as her arm snaked around Jon’s broad shoulders to press even closer to him, she squelched down the troubling voice and allowed herself to be pushed slowly back to the bed until she was supine and breathless.

“Dear gods,” Jon panted when he finally tore his lips away with the effort of a lifetime. “I…you…Dany…”

 _Same, Jon Snow. I feel exactly the same,_ she thought with her lungs nearly at bursting point with its search for much needed air. Her lips felt swollen and throbbed with the hunger of his kisses. She licked them slowly as if hoping they were still a part of her face, while studying his flushed and flustered expression. One would think it was the first time he had kissed someone with that awed look on his visage. Besides, with their conjoined hands still pressed between them, she could feel (and hear) the pounding of their heartbeats. _His_ especially.

“I have to,” he gulped with blatant craving in a gaze trained on lips he had all but consumed and would still love to devour. “I have to go get something from my room…I’ll be right back, okay?”

She smiled at his consideration and didn’t stop him from seizing her lips again in a hard kiss that told her he was definitely going to return come hell or high water.

“Fuck,” was his muttered curse as he reluctantly released their hands and scrambled to his feet. She tried not to giggle as he bumped into her dresser, cursed again, and apologized for being so clumsy before dashing out like a virgin eager to please his first lay.

_Oh, Jon…_

She remained on her back, not sure she could move even if she wanted to. Her entire body was a mass of thrumming nerves and she hugged herself as if hoping to recapture the strength and warmth of his body against hers. Closing her eyes, she relieved their kiss again, puckering her lips and recalling every decadent taste of his passion. _That_ was how a real kiss ought to make you feel. It didn’t have to be painful or impersonal. It didn’t have to leave you drowning in saliva or disgusted afterwards. It was meant to make your toes curl and your insides quiver like those colorful gelatin desserts she enjoyed. It was meant to make you want to sing a million songs, to fly to the heavens, or to dance in the clouds.

Ah, yes.

Slowly lifting her arms, she pretended she was a sultry seductress waiting for her outlaw prince. She would be dressed in the flimsy gowns and opulent jewels the ladies of Dorne were prone to wear. Perhaps a dress made of a million beads that cascaded down her body like shimmering rain. She writhed on the bed and pursed her lips, lowering her lashes, then batting them as she had seen her favorite actresses do on screen.

 _Come here, my love,_ she said to her imaginary outlaw, though his features looked oddly enough like a certain northerner with a twang that was noticeable again after their kiss. So he did resort to his northern roots when stressed or in the throes of passion.

_Hmm…_

Dear gods, was she getting even wetter or-?

“Sorry,” came the breathless words as Jon returned with a sheepish expression on his visage. “I couldn’t find the damn thing at first and had to toss out my entire luggage.”

She sat up on her elbows, hardly bothering to stop the towel from loosening and allowing a little more of her breasts to be exposed. With him still hovering uncertainly at the doorway, perhaps hoping she hadn’t changed her mind, she took the time to admire him from head to toe. If she were really that sultry vixen she had imagined, she might have asked him to strip so she could watch. But she wasn’t, and even if she could muster out the words, she was sure she’d sound like a frightened mouse.

However, Jon must have noticed something on her face, for his lips formed that now familiar smirk of satisfaction as the eager boy vanished and the confident man took control. His hands tugged at the bottom of his shirt and Dany felt her breath catch as he pulled it over his head to reveal a torso even better than the photo on his profile page. He clearly took care of himself, and as he tossed the shirt aside, she was mesmerized at the play of those ripped muscles beneath the slightly tanned skin. She might have whimpered when his hands moved to the belt and began to unbuckle it slowly.

Too slowly.

She captured her lower lip between her teeth and wished she could tell him to hurry it up, but he was being a deliberate asshole and the brief flash of his teeth as he grinned had her growling and raising her middle finger in response.

He laughed and unzipped then, hands now tugging the tight jeans down narrow hips and powerful thighs. She wasn’t surprised to find he was wearing black boxer briefs – and a designer brand at that- but she was surprised at how…endowed he was. Not that she had been staring at his lower half all this time, but my goodness. All _that_ hidden within his pants?

“You’re making me blush, Dany,” he teased as he kicked the jeans aside, tossed a couple of square silver-foiled packets on the bedside table, and leisurely made his way toward her.

She slid up the bed, the towel now so high up her hips, she was sure the sharp scent of her musk and wet evidence of her arousal did not escape his watchful dark gaze. Hell, all she had to see was the rising bulge in those designer briefs to know just how much she was affecting him. Glowing in that knowledge, she was immediately trapped in position with his arms positioned on either side of her body as he swooped in to capture her lips again in a searing kiss.

She wrapped her arms around him and gave back as good as she got, now aware that she had to be just as aggressive and appreciative of the way he was making her feel. She was sure he had kissed women with more expertise in the act, but she was a fast learner, and she was going to try to leave him just as satisfied if she could.

“Dear gods, I want you so much,” he rasped as he released her lips to trail his fevered kisses up her cheek to her ear, where the next whispered words would leave her completely at his mercy. “Let me show you how it’s really done, Dany.”

She inhaled sharply as he pulled away, but only to place his hands on her hips to position her onto the middle of the bed and to rest her head against the pillows. The towel was a non-entity at this point, for it was a twisted mess of discomfort trapped between them. Her breasts were now exposed, and though a timid part of her wished to cover them up from his heated scrutiny, the increasingly brazen side was delightfully pleased at how mesmerized he was. She knew her skin was pale like milk and her nipples the hue of a rosy blush; nipples that were now so taut and perky, they were almost an embarrassment. But not to him, not to the way his hooded gaze traveled over them, how his trembling hands cupped and felt the weight of them before squeezing in gentle reverence. She was prepared for the familiar pain to shoot through her with that motion, but as before, where they had been pinched or twisted by her tormentors, Jon seemed determined to be the exact opposite.

Instead of hurt, there was only pleasure heightened by the warm and wet sensation of his tongue tracing lazy circles around her right breast until they arrived at its inevitable destination. When his tongue flicked teasingly at the rosy nub, her inhaled breath of air was loud enough to make him smile. He repeated it again, and this time she arched helplessly into him, her fingernails digging into the hard planes of his shoulders with every lick. When he finally wrapped his lips around the wet protuberance and sucked like a man savoring the richest of wines, Dany’s eyes closed in a bliss not felt since…well…

_Oh…oh yes!_

He was now thumbing her other nipple, a reminder that nothing was to be neglected when it came to worshipping her body. He rubbed it between fingers, alternating between that and tugging it lightly as if marveling at its resiliency. Dany was a panting mess at this time, her body writhing helplessly beneath him as he continued his wonderful assault on her sensitive flesh. Her musk permeated the air, and she was sure his thighs were now just as wet as hers with the way he had situated himself between her legs.

“You taste so sweet, Dany. I can’t get enough,” he murmured as he released the nipple with a loud kiss, groaning as he focused on the left this time and trailed his hand down to the waiting heat between her thighs.

She gave a sound that was a cross between a sob and a gasp as his fingers teased the light hairs covering her mound. She might not have much strength in them, but she was still able to spread her legs apart to give him better access. His low hum of gratitude as he sucked just a little harder on her nipple, was drowned in the breathless cry to escape her as his fingers danced over the wetter lips below. Parting and stroking them with deliberate care – as if hoping to discover just what was guaranteed to kill her with ecstasy – she arched into his caresses and lifted her hips to urge him on.

 _Where is the pain?_ she wondered as strokes grew bolder. _Why don’t I want to heave in repulsion? Why am I not quivering in fear?_

For the only quivers she was experiencing was that of her sensitive canal being tormented in the most delightful of ways until the world went a brilliant shade of white. Her breath left her in that instant as he found it – that special spot, that tiny bundle of nerves the sex books and magazines called ‘the clitoris’. She could sense him smiling against her bosom, and perhaps if she could speak she might have begged him not to continue, for she wasn’t sure she could survive the oncoming onslaught. However, she was rendered completely unable to even think when he thumbed and then stroked the hardened nub mercilessly.

_OhgodsImgoingtocomeIcanfeelitIcan’tstopitIcan’tIcan’t_

She buried her teeth in his shoulder and clung on for dear life, glad to hear his low hiss of pain lost in the turbulent swirl of emotions roaring within her. She wanted to scream, cry, hit, hug, kiss, toss him onto his back and ride him until it was _his_ turn to beg for mercy, but then –

He stopped.

_Ohgodsnonononononoplease_

“We’re just getting started, sweetheart,” came the grunted words whispered quickly in her ear –

 _What? There’s more?!_ her widened eyes asked as they met his amused ones, before she was met with that mop of curly black hair dipping lower again, his talented lips placing kisses that alternated between hard and teasing, along her chest, stomach, tongue dipping into her bellybutton, down to those downy hairs that teased her womanhood until they found the moist crest that he had taunted to submission earlier.

The warmth of his breath against the throbbing clit was nearly enough to release the coil of heat pooled in the pit of her stomach, but when his tongue – that damn blasted tongue of his – licked it ever so slightly, she kicked out legs -often considered weak -to nearly toss him off.

“Damn, Dany,” came the throaty drawl as he lifted his head; his lips and beard already glistening with her juices. “Relax, sweetheart. I’ve got you, don’t worry.”

To emphasize his promise, strong arms wrapped around her upper thighs to keep them steady. With a barely controlled groan at the delectable sight before him, he dove in again to satiate his hunger, knowing just were to kiss, lick, and stroke with his tongue to get her skin breaking into a light sheen of sweat. She sank trembling hands into his hair, loving the soft feel of it against her fingers until they tugged gently on the roots as his deeper kisses and the sexy sound of his suckling was all that filled her ears – that and the pitiful whimpers of pleasure that kept slipping past her lips.

Never could she have imagined a place once considered shameful and filthy; a place where two men prior had used and abused for their selfish needs, could ever be made to feel like the most precious part of her. Jon was lavishing as much attention to that place as he had paid to her lips and breasts, almost as if to remind her of just how desirable and beautiful this broken body was supposed to be.

Her chest became tight until she could barely breathe. She choked on a sob and then another as the tears broke free to cascade silently down her cheeks. She tried to stifle it, hoping he wouldn’t take it the wrong way, but she was spared from her dilemma when the toe-curling almost piercing rush of her orgasm had her gasping out loud. Wave after turbulent wave of her completion had her spasming for a moment, until he mercifully released her with tender kisses to her inner thighs as if to thank her for the most amazing thing he had ever tasted.

“Mmm…I swear by the gods,” he began like a drunken man slurring with satisfaction. “You have got to be…” His words trailed off as he finally looked up. “Seven hells,” he whispered in slight panic as he noticed her tears and sat up with concern on his features. “I didn’t hurt you, did I? Oh, gods, Dany, I’m sorry if you didn’t want I mean…. mmphff!”

 _You talk too much,_ she might have said as she ravished his mouth and tasted herself upon his tongue. She still held tight to the roots of his hair, adjusting into position as he groaned and grabbed onto her hips for the conclusion to this wonderful initiation into the wonders of lovemaking.

He ground and rotated his hips against hers, his obvious arousal damp, hard, and urgent against her abdomen. They would break apart for air, but just far enough for him to whisper breathless words of need as she released her stranglehold on his hair and slid her hands down to his underwear. Meeting and holding his scorching gaze prisoner, she began tugging it down and without breaking eye contact, their breathing harsh and uneven, he helped with the restrictive obstacle until his throbbing cock kissed her mound with its hot length and warm drops of precum.

A low sound that was a cross between a growl and a pained whistle slid past his lips as she shyly wrapped her hands around it and began to stroke…up and down…slowly…carefully…watching as his lashes drifted shut, as his already flushed features seemed to slacken, as he sucked in a breath, pressed closer to her and threw back his head for a moment before hissing and falling forward again. As their foreheads met, he let out a trembling breath and lifted his lashes again.

“Please…st-stop for a bit, Da-Dany,” he pleaded. “I need to…”

Right, the condom.

Reluctantly, she released him, her hands still tingling from the feel of his penis in her grasp. Neither Viserys or the _khal_ had allowed her to do something that intimate, so getting to finally experience it was almost intoxicating. It showed that she could actually have _power_ over a man in this act. Jon was showing she too could take control and leave him just as helpless if she really wanted to. It didn’t have to be a one-sided affair at all. She writhed with a satisfied sigh, watching him fumble with the package and finally apply the sheer protective covering over that magnificent organ. Pity she would never get to experience it the way it ought to be, but she would take what she could get, and right now…

 _I want all of you, Jon Snow,_ her eyes demanded when he returned into her waiting arms. _Every single inch of you._

When they kissed this time, they seemed to realize just how important this moment was. It was no longer frenzied kisses of desperate passion, but a languid re-exploration of mouths that gasped and panted as one while their lower halves began the prelude to a dance as old as time.

“Gods, you’re beautiful, Dany,” he half-sobbed as he guided the tip of his cock to her welcoming wet folds. He caressed them for several torturous seconds as if in greeting, preparing that most sacred of places for an invasion she never realized she needed this badly.

_Oh, Jon…hurryhurryhurryhurrypleaseooooh_

There was the familiar pressure of insertion, not as timid as she was with her vibrators or dildos, or as insecure as Viserys or as rude as the _khal’s_. This was steady, confident, sure of its task yet seeking… _pleading_ for her final permission to go as deep as it could. It was with a breathless sigh that she conceded to his silent request, her arms wrapped tight around his neck as he helped to lift her hips and take what was his for tonight.

He established a tempo she could keep up with, though as the crests of pleasure filled her, she began to take charge of things perhaps subconsciously. Her inner walls would tighten at just the right moment to prolong the inevitable, his fervent whispered words of encouragement mingling with her harsh pants of increased bliss. With every stroke, he seemed to go deeper still until where he ended and where she began blurred in the growing haziness of her incoming completion. She could feel the tears coming again and was glad to seize his lips in a kiss that was as torrid as their quickened pace. His thrusts left her mindless, each driving home the message that she was never going to forget him anytime soon.

_Ohgods!_

Her orgasm was a brief flash of white in the blinding darkness behind eyes that had been squeezed shut. She had to release his lips to bury her face against the crook of his neck, her entire body jerking once…twice…three times as she exploded in the most wonderful kaleidoscope of emotions. Yet, he didn’t stop. He rode the first wave with her, his thrusts picking up pace until she felt it again –

_Already? Ican’t…ohdeargods…helpme…._

The second wave was just as potent, and she felt she could simply give no more. She couldn’t feel her legs, and still he remained engorged and greedy within her slick cavern, as if _sure_ she had at least one more to spare. She might have begged him to have mercy or pushed him off for being so inconsiderate of her limits, but to her chagrin, she felt the now familiar crescendo strike through her for the third time in as many minutes.

This time, she felt him tremble within her embrace, and she knew he was finally about to let go. She helped as best she could, lifting her hips and capturing his full lips in another kiss, until his hard shudder against and within her punctuated their consummation. She regretted not getting the pleasure of his semen filling her insides and trickling down her thighs, for as much as she appreciated the condom, a part of her longed to feel every inch of him down to the swollen tip of his beautiful cock.

He sagged upon her, his weight heavy but not too uncomfortable considering all that happened. She caught her wince between her teeth as he slowly withdrew with a soft wet sound, his still slightly rigid organ warm against her left thigh. He would release her legs slowly to the bed, but allowed his hands to linger upon her skin, stroking absently and creating more delightful goosebumps while they tried to catch their breaths and steady their thudding heartbeats.

“Seven hells,” came the low groan from somewhere around her neck. All she could see was his lovely curls she was now threading her fingers through. She wondered what hair products he used to get them so –

“…I think I’m probably dead.”

The giggle escaped her lips before she could stop it, and his low chuckle was punctuated with a tender kiss to her shoulder.

With a light grunt, he sat up on his right elbow to study her with that look that made her shyness return with a vengeance.

“Are you all right, Dany? I didn’t hurt you, did I?” came the quiet queries of such deep concern, that the tears she had thought all cried out made her eyes burn until he blurred before her.

No one had ever asked about her feelings after the act. No one had seemed to care enough to make sure she wasn’t hurt or miserable. No one had whispered her name with such reverence or pulled her into their arms, or placed tender kisses to her face and wiped her tears away, or tucked her beneath her favorite quilt until she was snug, warm, comfortable –

_(loved)_

He didn’t stop her from crying or berate her for being so weak. He didn’t mock her with insults or shout demands at her to stop acting like a child and to clean herself up. He didn’t consider her a tart, a whore, a slut, or some other shameful label that had stuck to her like grime. Jon Snow had managed to do something special tonight, and perhaps he’d never realize just how much it meant to her.

His tender caresses to her forehead and threading of his fingers through her damp strands of hair, made her lashes grow heavy from weariness and a happiness she had not felt in years. And as she threw a leg across his and clung to him like a second skin, she silently prayed to the gods for this most perfect moment to never end.

 

* * *

 

It was Drogon who woke him this time, and as Jon lifted weary lashes and forced himself to consciousness, it was to look into the face of a dog who wasn’t quite sure why his mother and the male human were in the same bed. Jon had a feeling he was taking up precious space reserved for the pooches, and he smiled in apology as he met all three doggy ‘glares’. Hell, they had both completely forgotten about the dogs through it all, though the smart canines must have realized the humans needed to be alone for they hadn’t been in the room once things got started.

…at least he hoped they hadn’t.

“Sorry, I’ll be up in a minute,” he whispered as he glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside table. It was a little past six in the morning, and they needed to be let outside.

If he could get away from Dany that is.

He blushed as he looked down at the female draped possessively over him. She was doing a damn good impression of a leech …not that he was complaining. Maybe it had to do with their second go at it sometime in the wee hours of the morning. Jon remembered waking up to her lips and tongue on his chest, while her hand was busy stroking his cock back to attention. Say what you will about shy, reclusive women. Give them one taste of the real thing and they became experts in a heartbeat.

Smirking at the memory of making her come again with his tongue on her clit and his fingers – two of them – thrusting deep into her until her breathless gasps were nearly deafening, his filthy thoughts were interrupted when Drogon tapped his chest with a heavy paw as if saying ‘get the fuck up, mister!’

“Seven hells, I’m coming,” Jon grumbled and with great reluctance gently unglued Dany from him. She protested with a low whine and lifted her lashes to give him a sexy as all hell glazed look. “I have to take the dogs out,” he explained as he leaned close to kiss the tip of her nose. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

She nodded and turned to the other side, giving him a much better view of a derriere still bearing the slight bruises of his crushing hold on them as she straddled him and –

“Right. Dogs. Potty. Outside,” he growled beneath his breath as he shook himself back to the present.

He would only be given enough time to hop into his jeans, before being dragged by three needy dogs to the kitchen. He yawned and stretched as they dashed out to the backyard, and sucking in a lungful of fresh air, Jon realized it must have rained again last night. Great. It meant it would be a cool enough day for them to spend outdoors.

 _If we even get to see the outside today,_ he thought with a small smile as he sank his hands into his pockets and watched the dogs do their business.

Which would be perfectly fine with him. After what happened last night, Jon was sure he never wanted to be away from Dany for even a second. However, he knew that his deal with her ended at eight this evening. It was a cruel reminder that she was nothing more than another client. With this job completed, he’d have the next three days off and onto the next with a repeat client who lived in Lannisport.

_Far from here…from you…_

He cleared his throat at the sudden lump to fill his throat and shuffled his feet restlessly. Taking a deep breath, he decided it was nothing worth getting depressed over. This was never meant to be a long-term relationship. He had to remind himself of that when she wept in his arms last night. Every instinct in his being had resisted the urge to pick up the phone, call Cersei and tell her he was through. Damn the consequences, he had finally found the one person he could come home to at the end of the day.

_Hah, dream on._

He could already picture Cersei’s thunderous expression, a look she only spared once in a blue moon, but powerful enough to leave grown men trembling in their boots. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t had her share of escorts quitting, but it was bad business to keep losing them ever so often because they couldn’t control their emotions. Besides, he had metaphorically (and perhaps literally) sold his soul to the Devil. Leaving anytime soon was not an option.

 _It’s why I think you’ll be different, Jon Snow,_ she had said on the first day of his hire. _There’s a…fatalistic despondency about you that I love. It’s the look of a man who is simply hoping to get through each day, not caring about trivial matters like lasting love or companionship. You will be the perfect escort._

Seven hells, how much of a miserable sap had he been to give her that impression?

But she wasn’t wrong about who he truly was. Jon Snow from Winterfell was, for the most part, a sullen, miserable bastard, whose only ‘true love’ was the home he had lost, a dog as big as a pony, and a sister he would die for if given a chance. Only now…as he let the dogs back in…he couldn’t help wondering if a certain _someone_ had creeped her way into that most sacred of places within his heart.

 _No, I’m overthinking things,_ he chided himself as he opened the fridge and decided to surprise her with breakfast in bed. _I’m just overwhelmed with everything that’s happened this weekend. It’s natural. Once I’m away from here, everything will get back to normal. I’ll go back to my job, and she’ll settle down with Jorah Mormont. A win-win for all parties._

And yet, as he stirred the eggs for an omelet and listened to the whistle of the coffee maker blending the aromatic beans, that damn hard twist in his chest wouldn’t let up. He knew he had shared something _more_ than just sex with Dany last night, which was driven home with her tears. Sure he had made a few women sob with their orgasms in the past, but with Dany, she didn’t need to say the words to express what had gotten her so emotional. With all the godawful experiences she’s had with men in the past, Jon was proud and happy he was able to give her something different. If nothing else, she was going to remember him as her ‘first’ in this new chapter of her life, even if it meant she would be sleeping in the arms of another man for the rest of it.

“Goddamn it,” he cursed as he nearly sliced off a thumb while peeling the tomatoes. Luckily, it was only a light graze, and he stuck it into his mouth to suck off the blood. He really did have to stop thinking of Dany’s future and focus on the present. He had only a few hours left with her, so he’d have to make every moment count.

“Rise and shine, Beautiful,” he greeted later as he walked into the bedroom with tray in hand. The dogs were still having their breakfast, so they weren’t around to intrude at the moment.

Dany moaned and flopped onto her back, her now dry hair fluffing out beneath her like a blanket of white silk. Which was another thing, that hair of hers should come with a warning label of sorts. He hadn’t thought he’d ever get turned on by the sensation of it against his skin, but there it was. Fuck, _everything_ about her turned him on, and she wasn’t helping by sitting up with an adorable look of confusion on her features as he placed the tray on the blanket.

She stared at the offering of omelet, toast, a cup of coffee, freshly chopped oranges, bananas, and grapes in a bowl, a bottle of water, and a vase with a lone pink rose in it. She lifted her gaze and raised a brow in silent query, not before noticing the flesh-colored band-aid around his finger and frowning in concern.

“Just a light graze. No big deal. But this…this is your breakfast in bed,” he said with a chuckle as he sat before her and picked out a grape. “Now open your mouth like a good little girl, hmm?”

She rolled her eyes, but did as told, leaning forward to accept the fruit, though cheekily capturing his fingers between her lips before he could pull away. He sucked in a harsh breath and shook his head as if in admonishment when she released him.

“We have to eat first,” he said roughly. “Or I swear to the gods, we might never leave this bedroom ever…”

 _Fucking hell,_ he groaned inwardly for her smile turned wicked, and she carefully set the tray to the side.

“Dany,” he began weakly as she rose to her knees and all but flung herself on him to push him onto his back and punctuate his broken words with baby kisses. “Can I…at least…mmm…put…the…tray on the…oh fuck…floor, please?”

Nearly an hour later, Jon was propped against the pillows, with Dany finishing the last of the fruit as he scrolled through the channels on the flat screen T.V. looking for the scores of the soccer matches from the night before. The dogs were resigned to the fact that Jon was now occupying their bed space, though Drogon didn’t seem to care for he had parked his large frame at the foot of the bed and wasn’t planning on budging anytime soon.

“I think he hates me now,” Jon muttered as Drogon’s long and bushy tail slapped his legs for the one-millionth time. “He’s doing that on purpose.”

Dany snickered and mimicked Jon’s pouty face. She leaned close to place a kiss on his lips before wagging her finger at Drogon who had lifted his head to see what was happening. The dog made a low whining sound, but with a crook of his mother’s finger, he nearly sent the tray toppling to the floor as he accepted his tummy rub for the morning. His siblings wanted in on the action, and before long, both he and Dany were doing triple duty satisfying her children’s needs. Thankfully, Jon had the foresight to set the tray on the window seat, before the three dogs effectively took over.

“Please tell me all three don’t sleep with you every night, do they?” Jon asked over Rhaegal’s head, for the pooch was now half-lying on his stomach, his tongue hanging out as he panted in content.

Dany shrugged and motioned for the dogs to get off the bed with a loud clap of her hands. With great reluctance, they obeyed her command, but only got as far as taking up positions on the floor this time around. Dany was busy dusting off the dog hairs left on the quilt, and he helped to shake it out, though both ended up laughing as some entered their mouths. Once it was relatively clean, she motioned for him to help her into the bathroom. She had already asked for his help once earlier, and he obliged by lifting her in his arms again, chuckling and placing a kiss on her forehead as she kicked out her legs slowly and nuzzled his neck.

“Want me to stay with you or wait out there like before?” he offered as he set her on the floor gently; watching with mild fascination as she stood…actually _stood_ on her legs, but obviously leaning against the bathroom counter to steady herself. She was just as petite as he had imagined, but just tall enough to be able to kiss him without standing on tiptoes.

_Yet she manages to make herself look ten feet tall even sitting on that wheelchair. Amazing._

She motioned toward the bathtub and mimed for him to help set up her bath stool and supplies. And as she brushed her teeth, Jon did the rest while trying not to steal glances at the full-figured beauty beside him. She no longer seemed shy about her body, and why should she? Aside from the scars on her wrists and her legs not being as proportionate to the rest of her, she was still a sight to behold. If he was more eloquent with descriptions, he guessed she could be compared to those fancy marble sculptures he once saw in a museum in Pentos. And to think he had been given permission to taste every inch of her three times now…and counting? He was the luckiest bastard alive, that’s for sure.

She caught him staring, but he did not bother looking away causing her to turn a pretty shade of pink at his scrutiny. She motioned that she was ready for the tub, and once he was sure the water was hot enough (as she preferred) he helped her onto the stool and offered to wash her back.

“I saw your sketches of me,” he began quietly as the sponge traced lazy circles across her skin. “Sorry, if you didn’t intend for me to see them, but I was just exploring the house yesterday and came across your art room.”

She looked over her shoulder at him, her brow raised lightly, though the question in her eyes was clear. Jon smiled in reassurance. “I’m not pissed. If anything, I’m…” He struggled to find the right word. Should he tell her he had burst into tears? That seeing himself look so bare and vulnerable was a painful reminder of a past he was struggling to forget?

“…you _see_ me,” he finished lamely as he tugged on the detachable shower head to rinse her off. “I don’t know if that makes any sense to you, but…” He laughed self-consciously and shook his head. “I think you’re one of the few people who can see through my bullshit.”

She turned at his gentle nudge of her shoulders, so he could focus on her legs. The spray from the shower was making him wet, but he was already naked anyway and it didn’t matter. He settled more comfortably on the tub’s edge and lifted her right leg, so it rested on his thighs. He began to scrub them in that same soothing circular motion, making sure he paid attention to every inch while hovering dangerously close to that most wonderful center of her he couldn’t get enough of. But his damn mouth was still moving, and he was glad for the distraction of her body, so he could get this off his chest once and for all.

“I don’t know if you know anything about Winterfell at all, but…it’s where I grew up, born and raised. I don’t need to tell you why my last name is ‘Snow’ while Arya goes by ‘Stark’, but I was treated well enough by my family. Sure there were some who still insisted on giving me no respect, but in the Stark household, it wasn’t so bad. I had brothers and sisters who loved me, and that was all that mattered.”

As he rinsed off her right leg and began working on the left, Jon found himself recounting memories of life at a place he still and would always consider home. He told funny stories of getting into trouble at school, playing pranks on and with his siblings, not being as good as his older brother (by a year), Robb, who was the closest thing to being the most perfect human being ever. He told stories about Sansa and Arya getting into squabbles over the most ridiculous things, of his younger brother Bran, who was a bookworm and smart as a whip. There was also little Rickon, who was a troublemaker in his own right, but had a heart of gold. Jon spoke of the lovely rare summer days they had, unaware of how wistful and descriptive he was especially when he described the godswood with its magical weirwood heart tree that towered over one of three ‘black’ pools (“looks that way in winter is what I mean to say, but in the summer, with the sunlight trickling through the red leaves of the heart tree, I swear it’s like seeing diamonds upon it, Dany”) He might have added that he’d love to show it to her someday, but he knew it was nothing more than an empty promise.

Still he could see the wonder in her eyes as she listened like a child mesmerized by a fairytale. He was technically finished with her, except for her private area, which she shamelessly spread open for him to work on. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen it before, so why was it such a big deal?

Only that he somehow managed to give her another orgasm once finished, and she pushed him away playfully with flushed features as he grinned at her bashful display. She motioned for him to get into the tub, so she could reciprocate the gesture, and though the stool was only fit enough for one, the tub was large enough for him to sit in it with his back to her. A low groan of pleasure escaped him as he closed his eyes and lowered his head to his raised knees to give her better access.

She nudged his shoulder, and when he looked up with bemusement, she signed for him to continue his story.

“You sure you want to hear the rest of it?” he asked with a pained smile. “This is the part where all those wonderful stories take a turn for the worst.”

Dany pointed to herself and rolled her eyes, and he laughed softly. “Yeah, your story isn’t a fairytale either, so I should just stop bitching and get on with it, right?” At her firm nod, he gave her a mock salute of surrender and turned away again. He closed his eyes as he felt her fingers sink into his hair and then massage his scalp as she washed his hair.

Dear gods that felt soooooo gooooood…

“It was about five years ago when everything went to shit,” he began speaking lest he doze off. “My father, who was a workaholic, finally got a chance to make use of all those vacation hours he had been piling up. It was something we were all looking forward to, and for months we made plans knowing we were going to see a whole new continent for the first time. We were planning on going to Braavos by the way. Ironic, huh? Anyway, he got some bad news the day before that the guy supposed to be looking after our home had to leave town for an important family business and couldn’t be around. Well, knowing my Dad, he was willing to sacrifice his vacation and remain behind just so a Stark…or at least someone related to the family was around in case of an emergency. You’d think he would be able to trust some of his closest advisers, but no…that was Ned Stark for you, always willing to do what was best for the family name first, personal gratification second.”

Jon paused and leaned back at Dany’s gentle nudge, so she could rinse off his hair. He could feel the familiar tightening of his chest as he got to this part of the story. He could still remember how upset Ned had been when Jon had offered to stay behind, but Jon knew he couldn’t be that selfish. He technically wasn’t even considered a Stark, no matter how much he loved his father and appreciated being raised with his legitimate children. He chose to remain in Winterfell, and with tears in his eyes as he hugged his siblings farewell, Jon had no idea it would be the last time he’d see all but one of them.

Damn it, he could still remember how sweet Sansa had smelled, could still hear Robb’s gruff playful ‘don’t mess anything up while I’m gone’, could still feel Bran and Rickon’s tight hugs, Catelyn – his stepmother’s brief smile (as if silently thanking him for making the right decision), and last, Ned’s grateful expression despite the grim tightening of his lips as he placed a hard kiss on his son’s forehead.

“I’ll call you when we arrive,” he had said roughly. “Thank…thank you, Jon.”

_Thank you, Jon._

The last words he’d ever hear from a man he had tried to emulate all his life. The last words from a man who never seemed to let the snickers and japes about his bastard son affect him. The last words from a man who was kind, patient, and loyal to a fault. The last words from a man who wasn’t ashamed to tell and remind him of how much he was loved even if the rest of the world gave him shit.

_Damnitdamnitdamnit! It isn’t fair! It just isn’t fair!_

He barely felt her arms wrap tight around him, but he did know he was sobbing and Dany’s tender kisses upon his shoulder and head was the comfort he did not realize he needed so desperately. He clutched her arms and wept harder than he ever had in years, not letting up until he was emotionally drained.

In silence, she bore it all; not complaining despite the faint bruises he left on her flesh from how hard he had been gripping her. He apologized profusely for his inconsiderate actions, but she silenced him with a kiss that left him trembling in her arms. When he took her again, it was with her mostly leading the way, her hands, lips, and body speaking and consoling him the only way she knew how.

He couldn’t remember them making it to the bedroom, or how he ended up passing out in exhaustion on her bed. However, as his lashes lifted slowly, he realized he was alone…. well if you didn’t count Rhaegal occupying Dany’s usual spot. Kissing the dog in greeting, he swung his legs off the bed, washed up, got dressed, and went in search of his elusive human companion.

To his surprise, she was already on the terrace with Drogon and Viserion. She looked even lovelier today, choosing to wear a long white skirt with lace trimmings, black ballet flats on her feet, a long sleeved red blouse with silver trimmings around its neckline, and her hair back in its braid. To combat the hint of sunlight breaking through the clouds, there was a large floppy straw hat on her head, which looked adorably sweet when she lifted her head to notice his presence.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he greeted with a warm smile before leaning down to give her a kiss that left them both scrambling for breath once finished. He stooped to his haunches and tried to look upset. “You left me alone.”

Blushing, she grabbed her chalkboard to write quickly. DIDN’T HAVE THE HEART TO WAKE YOU UP. SO PEACEFUL WHEN SLEEPING.

He lowered his head in embarrassment at the reasoning, aware that it was indeed probably the most restful sleep he’s had in…months? Years? And she was to blame for that.

“Are you hungry?”

She smirked and scribbled again. FOR YOUR BODY? YES.

“Seven hells, Dany,” he cursed with a laugh she reciprocated. Dear gods, he was going to miss her.

She placed a finger against her lips and pointed toward the lake, then mimed cupping her ear. Understanding her request, he strained to listen, and sure enough Jon could hear faint laughter in the distance. “Sounds like kids playing,” he said carefully. He tipped her chin to see her expression. “You want to go to the lake and see them?”

She nodded in agreement, and Jon rose to his feet with a slap of his thighs. “All right, let’s do this.”

Although the terrace had a flight of steps leading to the backyard, there was also a ramp beside it and they were able to maneuver themselves down to the stone path with no problems. As they rolled leisurely toward the natural barricade of towering elm trees, she raised her chalkboard over her head, so he could see her words.

WHEN I WAS LITTLE I USED TO PLAY IN THESE WOODS

“Oh?” Jon laughed softly. “I can see why.”

They were in the midst of it now, and despite the gloomy ambience thanks to the thick trunks and rustling leaves forming a natural roof over them, there was a still a raw beauty to it all, and from the way Dany’s head kept going back and forth – as if looking for something amongst the drifting shadows – he couldn’t help wondering if she was searching for the ghost of that precocious girl she once was. The melodic chirping from unseen birds mingled with the whispers of the wind dancing through the leaves. Dew drops cascaded on them with every gentle gust, and Jon brushed off the wet dead leaves that fell as well and teased Dany at her foresight in wearing such a huge ‘umbrella’ hat to protect herself. He received a poke to his ribs for that one.

The dogs, who had been trotting before and around them like silent guards broke free once they were out in the open and the lake loomed before them. They ran along the shore and played with each other, while Jon carefully pushed Dany onto the pier…not before testing it first and seeing that someone must have worked on it. It wasn’t as wobbly as before, but the motorboat was still a wreck. At his query, she confessed she hadn’t really cared much about it. It was already there when she moved back to mansion, and she made a note to have Sam take care of it when he returned.

The voices they had heard earlier had indeed been children, but they were so far away, it was impossible to make out their features from their vantage point. The homes around here were so spread apart, and surrounded by thick woodland, only the jutting piers or motorboats bobbing upon the waters were giveaways that other humans inhabited them.

For a while they entertained the dogs, with Jon finding several broken branches which he gave to Dany to toss as far and as hard as she could for the dogs to chase after. Jon also took the time to show her a game he and his siblings used to play on the White Knife. Searching along the shore for just the right stones, he was able to find decent flat-ish ones and bracing himself – not before kissing each for good luck to Dany’s amusement – he winked playfully and tossed it hard toward the lake with an odd side-swing motion that caused the rock to bounce off the water once…twice…thrice…whoa! _seven_ times in all before it sank to its depths.

“Robb could get his to bounce to fifteen. Arya could get hers to ten,” Jon said with a smile. “My uncle Benjen could get up to twenty-five, believe it or not. This is actually the first time I’ve gotten to seven. Haha! Personal best. Here, you try.”

She protested, but eventually he got her to toss one, though her arm motion wasn’t quite right. The most she could get was two bounces, where she pouted playfully and complained that her stones were probably faulty, or he had just rigged them.

Chuckling at her whining, he grabbed the handles of her wheelchair and began to push her back to shore…picking up speed until she gave a breathless squeal as he jogged onto solid land with the dogs now surrounding them as if eager to join in the game. Dany had to hold onto her hat, lest it fly off, and it wasn’t until Jon stopped moving, did she pin him with a withering glare despite her flushed features. Her eyes literally glowed from the brief surge of adrenaline, and though she kept trying to hit his arm for being such ‘an asshole’ – there was actually sign language for the insult – there was no denying it had made her feel good.

“Hmm…the lake looks even better today for some reason,” Jon sighed as he stretched his arms above his head and closed his eyes, as if grateful for another day to be alive. He would hear the faint sound of a shutter, and opening his eyes quickly, it was to see Dany holding up her phone and taking another picture of him.

“What are you do-?”

 _So, I have a memento of you,_ she signed with a shy smile.

Jon cursed inwardly at the now familiar dull ache to fill his chest, but he pushed it aside to dig into the back pocket of his jeans. “Guess I ought to do the same then. So smile for me, Beautiful.”

She giggled and held up the edges of the hat, so he could see her face. Her first pose was a shy smile, but at his mock antics of being a professional photographer and urging her to ‘work it! Wooork it!’, she got into the act and pouted appropriately, arched toward the camera, tossed her head back, waved her hands in the air, all with a grin or laugh that was simply priceless. Jon could barely hold onto his phone when they were done, and even as she urged him to show her the finished results, he knew there was no way he was deleting any of these.

“Want to do a selfie too?” Jon asked as he fell to his knees beside her.

She nodded, first using her phone and surprising Jon with a kiss to his cheek as she took it, and Jon repaying the favor by not only kissing her cheek, but her temple, the corner of her mouth, until the damn cameras were forgotten as their lips met in a dance now quite familiar to them.

She clutched his shirt tight when they broke apart as if unwilling to let go, and it was with an effort that Jon forced his lashes open to meet shimmering violet eyes struggling not to let go of the tears that hovered close. Their foreheads met, and he wrapped his hands around hers, struggling to swallow the lump forming in his throat.

He had about six hours until his day and time with her was done. Six measly hours to show her how much she meant to him.

“We can go back inside if you want,” he whispered hoarsely. “Stay in bed…until-”

She silenced him with a finger placed against his lips. She didn’t want to hear it.

She released him and grabbing her chalkboard began to write feverishly on it. When she held up the words, he felt his heart lurch with an ache that was borderline pain.

I KNOW YOU HAVE TO LEAVE AT 8, BUT I’M WILLING TO PAY YOU MORE IF YOU STAY A LITTLE BIT LONGER. CAN YOU STAY WITH ME UNTIL MIDNIGHT AT LEAST? PLEASE?

_Oh, Dany. I’d stay with you even if you didn’t pay me, but I can’t afford to sound that desperate._

“You don’t…” he began quietly as he brushed the tears that did break free anyway. “You don’t have to tell me twice, Dany. I’ll stay for however long you want me to, and you don’t have to pay either. Okay?” And with another languid kiss to her lips, he released her with a warm smile. “So, how about we go grab some lunch, hmm? I don’t know about you, but I’m starved, young lady.”

 

* * *

 

She was his helper in the kitchen for lunch, handing him the ingredients and utensils he needed, while recording him pretending to be a five-star chef with his own television show. Jon was even silly enough to pretend to have an accent of some sort, as he dazzled his viewing audience with his culinary skills. His tasty lemon pepper chicken with steamed vegetables was savored at their new favorite spot in the kitchen, each feeding the other from their plates until the meal was finished.

They would watch some television in the living room, only they both sat in the loveseat, with Dany cuddled against him until she dozed off. She was determined not to be far from him in these final hours together, and as she inhaled his wonderful scent, she pretended that all of this was never going to end.

She would force herself to awaken less than an hour later, aware that even sleeping was more precious time being wasted. There was still so much she wanted to do and share with him, and the gods knew that his revelation in the bathroom had sealed the deal on an emotion she knew was foolhardy.

_I think I am in love with him…_

And it was oh-so-terribly wrong.

She knew how this story was supposed to play out, and she hated herself for being unable to control it. Missandei had warned her about this, despite the teasing, and Dany was _sure_ she was not going to fall into that trap, so how was one to explain this? Wasn’t there a saying somewhere about the heart wanting what it wants? In this case, her heart had made its decision, and it concerned the man now frowning at a music sheet as he sat at the piano trying to play something for her.

She was in love with the boy from Winterfell who used to play pranks and get himself in trouble. She loved the boy who admitted that the scar on his forehead had indeed come from a fall accident while playing ice hockey. She loved the man who had always wanted to do the right thing and had made the choice to stay behind while his family went to their unforeseen demise. She loved the man still seeking a way to find redemption for a sin he had not committed. From her talks with Arya, she had learned about the loss of their home – of how another powerful northern family had claimed the rights to their estate before razing it to the ground to construct a commercial plaza of some sort.

“At least the asshole kept the godswood intact,” Arya had said bitterly with tears in her eyes. “But it killed Jon to know he wasn’t rich or powerful enough to stop what happened because of his status and all…and the fact that I wasn’t of age yet to really contest the decision. Maybe that’s why he really decided to become an escort, to make money as fast as he could and return to Winterfell to destroy the plaza. There’s no way we can rebuild our childhood home, but it’s better than seeing that place being turned into a cheap tourist attraction.”

And he _was_ doing the best he could. It was in every thoughtful crease of his brow whenever he got lost in thought. It was in the wry smiles he sometimes gave as if recalling a personal joke that was hardly funny. It was in the restless murmurs as he tossed and turned in bed, something she had noticed after their first round of lovemaking. It was why she had started kissing him; tender, soothing kisses to his drawn brows down to the strain around his downturned lips. And she hadn’t been kidding about not having the heart to wake him later. She had never seen him look that…relaxed, and knowing she was responsible for it, made her feel like she had achieved something monumental.

She wanted to know more about him; what made him happiest, his true likes and dislikes and not what some profile on a webpage spouted. She wanted to spend more quiet evenings with him, or more strolls around the lake, teaching him more about her world and learning more about his. They could speak in complete silence if they wanted to, or they could simply remain in sinful communion amongst the sheets never wanting to leave each other’s arms.

 _I love you, Jon Snow,_ she thought with a pounding heart as he began playing the first notes to _Seasons of my Love_.

 

_I loved a maid as fair as summer_

_With sunlight in her hair_

_I loved a maid as red as autumn_

_With sunset in her hair_

_I love a maid as white as winter_

_With moonglow in her hair_

 

She sat up slowly and clasped her hands on her lap, his voice melancholic enough to match the lyrics to the song. She closed her eyes and sang along with him in spirit, her voice as clear as the bells in the Great Sept of Baelor. She was ten again, performing in this very room for her dear Pa Aemon. She barely felt the first drops of her tears wet her hands until she lifted her lashes at the sound of her name.

Oh, how she loved that face he made when he asked about her welfare, as if he too ached at the idea of her ever being hurt.

She sniffled and forced herself to smile, motioning for him to come lift her up so she could join him. He obliged with pleasure, and though she would have loved to be carried, she was determined to cover the short distance with his assistance.

 _I won’t break,_ she signed to him and held onto his arm as she rose slowly to her feet.

 _One foot forward at a time, Dany,_ she mentally coached herself. _One…two…three…ah!_

“It’s okay, it’s okay. I’ve got you, sweetheart,” Jon’s low voice of encouragement filled her ears. “You’re almost there. You’re doing just fine.”

_One…two…three…_

Ten tedious steps later, she sagged onto the piano seat with a sigh of relief, trying not to blush at Jon’s continued admiration of her efforts. She waved her hand in dismissal and wiped away the sheen of sweat on her brow. _Phew_. Now to show him how to really play this thing.

“You play, don’t you?” Jon asked, and she graced him with a withering look of ‘are you kidding?’ that had him coughing in embarrassment. He sat beside her, and she turned the pages of the music sheet to one of her favorites _Flowers of Spring_. Not that she really needed it. She could play the song with her eyes closed, and she did just that, simply letting her fingers do all the talking as they caressed the wooden keys and urged them into melodic harmony.

She would perform two more songs for him, before her fingers began to cramp from the effort. And besides she was getting hungry. He prepared to offer something for them to cook, but she pointed to her phone and in her contacts, showed him the number to the nearest Braavosi-themed take-out restaurant.

 _I’m giving you a break tonight,_ she teased in sign language to which he replied with an exaggerated sigh of relief as he flopped onto the loveseat.

The delivery service was quite fast, and in no time, they were sitting on the living room floor eating green egg noodles, fried snails dipped in vegetable sauce, and sweet raspberry tarts for dessert. She was made to watch his favorite soccer team play against a rival in some championship semi-final match, and though he did his best to explain the rudiments of the game, Dany was hopelessly lost as to why it was so exciting to kick around a ball for over ninety minutes. Still, she indulged him and contented herself in watching his animated responses to missed opportunities or suffering his exuberant kisses of celebration when a goal was scored.

His team won in the end, and they were apparently now in the finals to win it all. Good luck to the Winterfell Wolverines, eh?

He was humming his team song as he cleared away the mess, and Dany stole a surreptitious glance at the clock. It was now nine-fifteen…four hours left.

_What else can I get to do with him besides the obvious? I’m running out of things to keep him here with me._

When she was sure the panic was bound to set in, as if able to read her mind, he all but sauntered out of the kitchen with a warm smile on his face.

“It’s raining again,” he began with a playful pout. “I was hoping we could spend the rest of the night looking up at the stars, but maybe we can do the same thing…indoors.”

Dany raised a brow in confusion and looked at the crown moldings on the ceiling as if wondering if Jon was seeing something she didn’t. Or was the excitement of the game making him go mad?

“Using our imaginations, sweetheart,” he said with a laugh. “I hear you have quite an impressive one, so…let’s try making this all go away…”

As he spoke, he was now arranging the pillows and cushions from the sofas and chairs on the floor. The dogs, just like their mother, were baffled at this new ‘game’, but simply chose to watch or wag their tails in silent curiosity. When he was finally done, Jon had created a mini fort of sorts, and with a purse of his lips in thought, he snapped his fingers and then dashed upstairs before Dany could question what he was thinking about. He returned with her favorite quilt and his blanket to drape them over the fort and on the floor, so it was cozy enough for the two of them.

Jon puffed out his chest, proud of his architectural achievement, and clearing his throat he bowed graciously. “After you, my lady. No, not you Drogon! It’s for Mommy and me only.”

Both dog and human seemed to get into a glaring match, and Dany, doing her best not to laugh despite the spreading warmth of giddy happiness and joy in her heart, crawled into the fort and lay on her back. The tears would come as she stared at the woven golden dragon motifs on the pillows used as a ‘roof’. They might not be real stars, but the little Dany within her could appreciate the magic of this moment. Hadn’t she built forts of her own when she was a child? How many times had she piled these same pillows in this shape, and pretended she was on many grand adventures all over the world? How many times had she sought refuge in here, especially on the days Viserys was extra mean to her and she couldn’t dare cry in front of the adults?

And now…all these years later, was a man who must have done the same thing miles away from her in Winterfell. He was also able to understand the power of imagination and how wonderful a simple thing like a ‘fort’ could be to a lonely child seeking companionship any way she knew how. Only this time, instead of her dolls, teddy bears, or stolen action figures from Viserys’s room, she had a living, breathing human right beside her…if only for a few more hours.

Jon had turned down the lights in the room, and the only glow came from the muted television which acted as the ‘moon’ in their make-believe world. He crawled in to lay beside her, the space so small, they were pressed tightly against one another – though neither seemed to mind. Dany turned onto her side to snuggle even closer, her lips pressed against the curve of his bearded cheek as she listened to him speak. His voice was a low rumbling sound that seemed to resonate off his chest, and in wonder, she studied his lips as they moved, and followed his finger as he pointed toward the maroon pillow with the snarling dragon etched on it.

“Hmm…looks like the Sword of the Morning is out tonight, my lady. Isn’t it breathtaking?”

She nodded and raised her hand to motion stars forming a semi-circle around a moon.

“The Moonmaid?” Jon asked incredulously with a mock gasp. “Why, I do believe you’re correct. It is the Moonmaid. You do know what that means, don’t you?”

Her eyes widened in mock shock as well; brilliant with their unshed tears as they met his warm ones in the gloom of their nest.

“The stories from beyond The Wall tell us about the Moonmaid appearing in the heavens,” Jon confided in a rough whisper. “The Wildlings claim that if the red wanderer is seen amidst the Moonmaid, it’s a good time to steal a woman.” Without looking away from her, he sought her hand between them and held on tight, their fingers forming a knot that neither was unwilling to untie anytime soon. Her breath caught as he shifted positions, ever so slightly, so as to face her completely. He seemed to study every inch of her face, leaning forward to kiss away the tears that broke free to slide down her cheek before whispering into her ear.

“And if my lady is willing…perhaps I can steal her away from here and take her to a place where she truly belongs…”

 _By your side? Always?_ She prayed foolishly as their lips met in a kiss that started out slow and sweet until uncontrollable passions flared to the surface to take control. It was tricky not trying to knock down the fort as their bodies heaved and tried to fuse into one. Still, they had to make do as restless hands tugged at buckles, buttons, and zippers until the only portion of their bodies that really mattered, at this moment, finally consummated the inferno flaring between them.

She was upon him as they moved, her blouse and bra hitched up to release a full breast to his hungry lips. His strong hands slid beneath the cotton folds of her skirt to hold onto her hips, his thrusts harder and deeper as she gasped breathlessly in increasing bliss. She trembled as he moaned her name, her fingers sinking into his hair as the plateau of utmost satisfaction was almost reached. She finally forced his lips away from her breast to seize them in a kiss that left him with no doubt as to how much she would miss him, need him, and love him despite what their futures held.

When she wept, her name was a choked sob torn from the depths of him, and when they finally exploded in bittersweet satiation, their quivering bodies would remain locked in an embrace they felt no need to withdraw from.

For how long they remained in that way, she had no idea, but she would eventually fall asleep – no matter how hard she fought against it – with his name a desperate mantra of longing still lodged stubbornly in her throat.

She was awakened by a familiar hot, panting breath upon her face, and as much as she wished it to be one person, she lifted heavy-lidded lashes to peer at the russet-colored innocent eyes staring back at her. Drogon’s immediate low whine of greeting and his subsequent gentle lick of her face could not prevent the small smile of gratitude on her lips as she snuggled against his welcoming warmth in silence. Her body was still delightfully sore from their exertions hours earlier, and she was quite unwilling to move a muscle as she recalled every moment of their last frenzied coupling. It wasn’t until Drogon shifted positions, did she finally notice the small note crumpled beneath his large frame.

Motioning for him to change positions, hence knocking down a few more pillows in the process, Dany did her best to straighten out the piece of paper and to read its hastily-written content.

 _Dear Dany,_ it read

_I’m not so good with expressing myself, so I’ll keep this brief._

_Thank you, and I really mean that, for a wonderful weekend._

_I wish it had never ended but know that every moment spent with you is one I’ll never forget._

_I wish you all the best in the future, and hope you find happiness with the next chapter of your life._

_P.S: Thanks again for allowing Arya (and Ghost) to visit when they can. That was generous of you._

_P.P.S: I am also leaving my personal phone number. It’s against agency rules to do this, but if you ever want to text or facetime me ‘off-the-record’ and just be friends, I’m more than open to that._

_Until then, take care of yourself for me._

_~~Love~~_ (which he crossed out several times, though it was still slightly legible) _Jon._

 

She lost count of how many times she read his words, over and over and over again until she had them memorized – phone number included. She knew it was ridiculous to assume that his decision to cross out the word ‘love’ was because he too felt the same way, but she couldn’t help picturing the blush on his features as he did that anyway. All the same, he wanted to remain _friends_ , so that was a good sign, and with Arya stopping by in the future, he wasn’t going to be completely eliminated from her life after all.

_Just friends._

She flopped onto her back with the note now held above her head as her smile grew wider. If that was all he wanted from now on, she could live with that. Besides, maybe eliminating the sexual part of their relationship would eventually ease off these intense feelings she had for him. Or ‘infatuation’ as Missandei would no doubt call it.

And yet, as she curled into a fetal position – with her three children now cocooning her in their midst - she held the letter to her chest and squeezed her eyes shut in concentration. That name was still a taunting nuisance within her mind, her heart, and trapped within her vocal cords. She would part her lips and mouth it out in slow and steady succession, testing its weight on a tongue still able to feel his from their numerous intimate duels. She conjured up his image, from the tip of his mussed black hair to the soles of his feet. She recounted every sensation of his hands, lips, and tongue against her flesh. She could still hear his heated words of passion and encouragement, his desire to make her feel loved, wanted, and most importantly, _beautiful_. And as it swelled and blossomed within her like the petals of a rose unfurling in all its glory, that simple, yet wonderful name would finally break free in a whisper tender enough to melt into a breathless sigh of longing.

“Jon.”

 

_a biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiig thanks to the lovely @ice-and-fire-trash for this beauty!_


	9. Reality Bites

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She liiiives!  
> Yeah, it's that time of the year when everyone seems to get hit with the flu/cold/cough etc, and it definitely hit me with a vengeance. Still recovering, but at least I'm no longer seeing double or hacking out my lungs. -_-  
> With all that wonderful intro said, hope you enjoy the new chapter!  
> I can't thank you all enough for your awesome feedback for the previous one, and to all those who sent well-wishes/healing vibes my way!  
> I truly do appreciate it! (((hugs)))

 

_Thanks to the wonderful[Anitah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anitah/profile) for the lovely moodboard!_

* * *

 

 

“Bloody Stags!”

The heated profanity was drowned in the eruption of cheers from rabid fans of said football team, thanks to a last-minute goal scored by their most famous striker. With this win, the Stags were now into the championship match where they would face the Winterfell Wolverines for the ultimate title. The once tension-filled bar was now a display of male (and some brave females) love fest with boisterous hugs exchanged, passionate kisses doled out to anyone willing to accept them, more drinks ordered on the house, and the raucous Storm’s End team song taken up by gritty grown men – more likely to punch you in the face on any given day – now sobbing with joy at a thirty-year curse finally being lifted. Scarves, flags, and jerseys featuring the trademark mustard-yellow with a leaping crowned black stag of the Storm’s End FC, overpowered the fading maroon and gold colors of the Lannisport Lions, as those fans slunk away and into the chilly evening probably with plans to drown their sorrows in another establishment that would be more welcoming.

“No fan of those suckers,” came the jovial commentary as the big man with the shaggy mass of red hair on his head and face, returned to their table with two large mugs of beer and an extra pitcher for good measure. Tormund was still clad in the Wildling colors of tan and gray despite his team being defeated in the early stages of the tournament. Not that he gave a shit. No one had expected them to even get to the second round. Now _that_ was an accomplishment.

“To the Wolverines!” he saluted in that loud booming voice of his while slamming a mug in front of his quiet companion and raising his in a toast. “May they crush the bloody Stags and remind them of what losers they’ve been for the past thirty years!”

“Up yours, Giantsbane!” someone roared from across the room, and in no time, Tormund was engaged in a good-natured ribbing match with Stag fans, though he was supported by the few Wolverine diehards in attendance.

Jon chuckled and took a long draught of the cold beverage, knowing full well his friend would not need his support in this particular ‘fight’. Tormund had enough trash-talking for all of Westeros, though when sleeves started rolling up and tempers appeared to be flaring, Jon drowned the rest of his beer with a loud burp and rose to diffuse the situation.

“Fucking pig-fucker!” Tormund raged over Jon’s shoulder despite being ushered back into his chair with the help of two other guys.  His opponent – a guy just as big as Tormund with a passing resemblance to a woolly mammoth – was being held back as well. “Go back to yer fat wife and shove that tiny pecker into her…if you can find the bloody cunt that is!”

“Seven hells, Tormund,” Jon groaned as they all nearly collapsed onto the seat in a heap. “Are you drunk already?”

“Drunk?!” came the indignant reply despite the waft of the alcoholic beverage washing over Jon’s features with every huffed breath. The Wildling’s ruddy beard and moustache seemed to bristle at the ‘insult’. “ _Drunk?!_ I haven’t even started!”

As if to emphasize his point, he grabbed the pitcher and began to drink right from it, encouraged by the cheers of the patrons going ‘CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!’ while placing bets on whether or not the man would puke when he was through. Jon was tempted to tell them all to shut the fuck up, but even he was amazed at Tormund’s ability to guzzle down the beverage without taking a breath. He would eventually finish with a loud roar and the longest belch in the history of belches earning even more cheers and pats on the back for his barbaric feat.

“You are a piece of work, Tormund,” Jon said with a laugh as he watched his friend motion for the waitress to refill the pitcher. They were finally alone again, as his ‘adoring fans’ had now drifted off to find something else to keep them entertained.

“You’re damn right I am,” the older man agreed with a guffaw, reaching for the small bowl of peanuts to pour its remaining contents down his throat. “Stale as shit,” he complained as he chewed and sprayed some in the process. He washed it down with the beer left in his mug, before leaning forward to look at Jon in earnest, his blue eyes hardly betraying the amount of alcohol already consumed so far. “Hey! Do you think she was watching me? Huh? Was she looking my way, Jon?”

 _Her_ was the tall, statuesque female with features that were…interesting to say the least. One couldn’t consider her completely ugly, but she wasn’t likely to win any beauty pageants either. Her blonde hair was cropped and unruly as if she hadn’t bothered to comb it before leaving the house. Her blue eyes were the most striking thing in a face defined by a nose broken one too many times and lips that appeared swollen. Her choice of clothing; slightly baggy jeans and a plain green oversized sweater, didn’t exactly scream _fashionista_. And despite her inattention to the others in the room, Tormund had fallen head-over-heels the moment she marched through those doors. It was unclear who she was rooting for, as she seemed to wear no paraphernalia for any of the teams, but Jon was sure she had clapped and smiled when the Stags scored.

Either way, watching his friend regress to a lovesick teenager eager to impress his crush, was something he never thought he’d see in this lifetime. He knew Tormund had gone through a nasty divorce several years back, and rarely got to see his four kids who he was damn proud of. Still, he would always be the first to give advice to his fellow co-workers who complained about domestic issues, offering encouragement and consolation where needed. He also wasn’t immune to admiring members of the opposite sex and openly professing his appreciation for them. However, Tormund had never gone out of his way to date anyone or seek their companionship in all the time Jon had known him. Finding this mysterious blonde tonight was a major step for his friend, and all things considered, his reaction to her was quite heartwarming.

“She might have glanced over here,” Jon finally replied cautiously, for he didn’t want to give his friend any false hopes. It was one thing to assume someone was interested, but another to end up looking like a complete fool when rejected.

 _And where does that leave me?_ he mused as he tuned out Tormund’s gushing over how magnificent Mystery Woman was including something about them getting together and having great big monster babies. The gods bless Tormund and his delusions of grandeur…which still brought him back to his woes.

_Did I do the right thing?_

Was he a fool to leave that invitation to a ‘friendship’ despite all the warning bells ringing at how much of a disaster such a relationship could end up being? Should he have left without leaving that goddamn note? He had lost count of how many times he’d labeled himself a fool for doing something that cheesy, wishing he could turn the car around, dash back into the mansion, and rip it up before she woke up.

And dear gods, how difficult had it been to leave her in the first place?

When was the last time he spent almost half-an-hour watching a client sleep, powerless to her immobile figure, while the hands of the clocked ticked away like a time bomb just waiting to explode? When had he ever felt like his feet were made of lead, or that his movements were akin to being dipped in molasses as he packed his things? Even with Rhaegal, Viserion, and yes…even Drogon, watching him with expressions of melancholy in their eyes, their comforting presence did nothing to ease the gnawing ache that would simply not let up. He had desperately tried to reach into the reserves of his escort experience to feel indifferent about it all but would fail miserably as he battled with himself for a good five minutes at the front door before turning back to scribble the blasted message.

Returning to their ‘fort’ and placing it beneath the pillows was almost another mistake in itself, for he was again struck by how sweet and peaceful she looked in her fetal position. Cheeks still flushed with their rosy hue caressed by tendrils of moon-lit hair next to slightly swollen lips still recovering from their passionate kisses to the gentle swell of her bosom with every breath she took…

Seven hells. He had to get the fuck out of there.

“…should go talk to her,” Tormund was now saying as he nudged Jon’s arm to force him back to the present. “What do you think? Should I do it?”

Jon studied the open features before him and felt his heart surge with warmth and affection for this man who had taken him under his wing and had become a mentor, confidante, and friend over the years. Tormund, for all his boisterous and gregarious nature, was a softie beneath it all, and if he felt he was going to find his happiness with a woman who looked anything but interested, who was Jon to stop him from pursuing his dreams? For all he knew, this blonde could be playing hard to get.

“Go for it,” Jon encouraged with a grin and a pat of the big man’s forearm. “What the hell, eh? You only live once, right?”

There was a flicker of uncertainty, and perhaps concern, in the older man’s eyes, but taking a deep breath and puffing out his chest, he nodded firmly and rubbed his hands together. “All right, Jonno! Wish me luck!”

He was up and out of his seat before Jon could say anything else, and as the waitress finally returned with their beers, Jon raised the mug to his lips and watched the exchange surreptitiously. Not surprisingly, Mystery Blonde seemed taken aback at the sudden appearance of the burly red head, but her features soon settled into polite interest; neither encouraging or discouraging of Tormund’s efforts. She hadn’t even invited him to sit down despite being the only one at her table. Jon felt his stomach twist up in knots for his friend, and just when he felt he ought to get up and drag Tormund away from what could turn out to be a humiliating experience, the woman finally responded with a small smile and nodded toward the empty seat across her.

 _All right, Big Guy!_ Jon cheered inside. Tormund would turn to give him the biggest grin of his life and a thumbs up sign, before plopping down on the bench, like a clumsy log, to continue the conversation with the eagerness of a kid in a candy store.

 _Lucky bastard,_ Jon thought with a chuckle only for a shadow to fall over him. He looked up to meet sparkling green eyes in a pretty face. He had noticed the brunette earlier in the evening, but she had been draped on the arm of another man. Said man was no longer in sight though.

“Want some company, Handsome?” she crooned as she leaned forward and puckered shiny pink lip-glossed lips together, allowing the already tight Storm’s End tee-shirt she was wearing to accentuate breasts that were probably artificially-enhanced. Damn. Even her nipples were the size of gold dragon coins.

“Not tonight, Beautiful,” he replied with a smile as he drained the last of his beer, ignored the irritated look on her face, and placed a generous tip on the table. As much as he’d like to watch the rest of Tormund’s love affair unfold, he did have to get up early tomorrow….well, later today (for his watch said it was almost one in the morning).

He exited the bar, forced to turn up the collars of his jacket before shoving his hands into its pockets as the blast of cold air nearly sent him back on his heels. Winter, in the South (of all places) was going to be a bitch this year. Unfortunately, his quickened footsteps slowed as he recalled that Tormund had driven them here. It was quite a walk to his apartment complex, but Jon figured he could chance it and get some exercise. Besides, the streets were still bustling with excited football fans and late-night revelers too wired up to sleep.

As he deftly avoided a puddle, Jon’s thoughts drifted back to the woman he had left behind two nights ago. He wondered what she was doing now, only to mentally kick himself for that dumb query. Of course she was probably fast asleep, with Drogon and the others taking up the space he had occupied seemingly eons ago. He already missed the warmth and coziness of that bed, draped with that wonderful colorful quilt Dany had said was a gift she had received in Braavos. He hoped she’d had no more mishaps after that fall the other night. He knew Missandei stopped by during the day, but was anyone with her at night? What if she fell again and there was no one available to assist? Would she had to sit or lie there until morning? That thought alone made his stomach swirl with worry.

 _But it’s probably not the first time that’s happened,_ he thought with a light frown. _I’m sure there’re already precautions taken for such inevitabilities._ _Besides, with that guy returning, she’s in good hands._

‘That guy’ being Jorah Mormont – a name and person he was eager to regard as a non-entity…with little to no luck.

All the same, Jon wished he could call to find out or clarify, but with Missandei’s text yesterday, he had a feeling any other sort of communication between them was going to be unnecessary. It wasn’t as if the Naathi had been rude, after all the text had simply said _‘Thank you for providing her with a fun weekend’_ with no opening for a follow up or any hint of it. He wasn’t a mind reader, but he was sure Missandei’s silent message was that his work was done, and he would no longer be needed in the foreseeable future.

It would probably explain why he was yet to receive a text from Dany despite his offer.

Not that he could blame Missandei for being cautious and protective of her ‘sister’. In his line of work, it was easy to see why many would consider him unreliable when it came to relationships and considering Dany had been ‘overexposed’ in just three short days, it was likely she had been advised to steer away from any other involvement with him.

Perfectly understandable, right? _Right._

Pity the more irrational and impulsive side of him failed to think the same.

This ‘sensitive’ side was simply put - _hurt_. Hurt at the silence and the awareness that he was probably already forgotten, despite his better nature reminding him he had left just _two_ days ago. What the fuck was he expecting? That Dany would be sending him messages every other second, missing him just as he was her? He tried to blame this onset of emotions on Arya with her decision to spend the week with Gendry. He had at least expected to see his baby sister at home – waiting and ready to badger him with questions about his weekend with her new best friend. However, when he returned to an empty apartment (and she had taken Ghost with her to add salt to the wounds), the silence was nearly deafening and the loneliness overwhelming. It wasn’t to say she hadn’t been away from him once or twice before, but those were usually sleepovers with girlfriends, not a week-long stay with a man she was getting quite fond of.

 _Not that I blame her for choosing to be with someone. I’m rarely home anyway, and besides… she’s growing up,_ Jon thought with a pained sigh as he avoided a group of drunken Stag fans and turned into the somewhat quieter section of the Street of Sisters.   _And I have to grow the fuck up as well._

In a day, he was off to Lannisport, and he would have to put his game face on and do his best not to think of Dany anymore or stare like a drugged-up addict at the selfies they took or close his eyes and recall every damn second spent in her presence.

It was going to be difficult, no doubt about it, but if he hoped to ‘move on’, he’d have to start as soon as possible. For with every new job he had to complete, it was one step closer to Winterfell.

 

* * *

 

She knew Missandei wouldn’t understand.

Which was why she kept it to herself and skimmed over the details of the weekend. However, she should have known who she was dealing with. Her best friend wasn’t currently studying Clinical Psychology at The Royal College just to be given the old ‘oh-nothing-really-happened-much’ routine. Hell, Missandei had sensed it from the moment she walked into the house that morning.

“…oh dear gods. You two fucked, didn’t you?”

Dany, who was already dressed for the day and was in the living room watching the morning talk shows while chewing an almond biscuit, nearly choked on it at the blunt assessment. Her features went as bright as the lovely blouse she had chosen to wear today. Missandei rushed over to give her some water to drink, and when she felt she could breathe again, Dany tried to glare at her friend in silent admonishment.

When the smirking woman refused to back down, Dany signed that ‘it wasn’t funny’ and swat at Missandei’s arm despite the rush of heat to creep up her neck.

“It’s all over your face, my darling,” Missandei replied with a chuckle as she rose to her feet and ruffled the dogs’ heads in greeting. “Well, all over you really. I don’t think I’ve seen you this _relaxed_ in forever. He must have been _that_ good, huh?”

Dany turned an even deeper shade of red and refused to answer, choosing instead to take another sip of the water and stall for time. She could hear the words forming in her head, and she began forcing them past straining vocal cords to make them audible.

To say she had been shocked to hear her very first word in three years, was an understatement. Saying Jon’s name – simple enough as it was – was almost deafening to her. Sure she had heard herself laugh or giggle, but actually _speaking_ and enunciating words was as foreign as it was to be loved so thoroughly by a stranger. Her voice had sounded harsh and almost raspy, not exactly as ‘sweet’ as her imaginations had thought it would be. All the same, delighted and thrilled at her breakthrough, she had spent the rest of the morning whispering his name, getting used to the weight of it on her tongue, and imagining how surprised he’d be if and when she said it to his face. Or maybe she could just call and say his name and then hang up. Now _that_ would probably freak him out the most.

“…flight coming in this evening,” Missandei was saying as she tucked her legs beneath her on the loveseat. “I bet you can’t wait to see him, eh? I hope he didn’t forget to get me those dates from Myr. You loved them too, didn’t you?”

 _Yes,_ Dany’s mind screamed, before she parted her lips to force the word out slowly. “Ye-yes.”

“Sweet as all hell and-”

Missandei’s sudden stop and subsequent look of shock was something Dany wished she could record on camera. She settled for a sheepish smile as her friend’s eyes soon welled up with tears she was unable to control. It took all of her strength not to become just as emotional as Missandei rose to kneel beside her, reaching out, and clasping her hands tight within hers.

“Please tell me I didn’t just imagine you saying ‘yes’,” Missandei whispered thickly. “You actually spoke, didn’t you? Yes? You did?”

Dany began to nod, but then recalled that she would have to form the words again and gripping Missandei’s hands so tight – unaware she was doing so – she knitted her brows in concentration. “Ye-yes. I-I…can. Li…a li-little.”

“Aaaah! It’s a miracle!” Missandei squealed and hugged her tight, a move that was reciprocated as both women laughed and cried at the same time. Her children, not quite sure what the celebration was about, barked and ran in excited circles around the couple.

“Holy shit! Maester Dustin is going to be so shocked at your next therapy session!” Missandei gushed. “And Jorah! Jorah’s going to lose his mind! He’ll burst into tears too I’m sure.”

Dany blushed at the idea, a part of her indeed hopeful that Jorah would be pleased at her progress. She might not view him in the romantic sense, but he was one of her closest friends and all he had done for her was something she could not easily forget. Watching him suffer in silence was also painful for her, and if she could provide him with this little gift of her speech, that would make a world of difference.

“How? When? Why?” Missandei peppered her with questions, before sitting back to stare intensely at her friend. “Wait…don’t tell me Jon Snow had something to do with this? How magical is his dick to make you talk again? Good grief!”

Unable to fully articulate all the thoughts racing through her mind, Dany settled for sign language again. Simply telling Missandei it all happened _after_ Jon left. And no, it wasn’t thanks to his ‘magical dick’…even if the whole experience had felt magical to her (this part she kept to herself).

It failed to make a difference, for Missandei must have noticed something on her face as she ‘spoke’ with her hands and expressions. When she was finished, the Naathi sighed and reached out to grasp Dany’s hands again. There was a look of long-suffering and perhaps sadness in her lovely brown eyes.

“What did I warn you about when I left, _innavva_?”

Dany was beginning to shake her head in denial, but Missandei silenced her with a finger against her lips.

“This isn’t the movies, remember? You don’t really expect him to come sweeping you into his arms at the end of the day spewing shit about giving up his job just to be with you, do you? Right now, he’s probably fucking some middle-aged woman in gods’ knows where, and you are nothing more than just another job fulfilled. Ah, ah, I know you think he’s shown signs of caring, and he’s probably fed you some schtick about wanting to be friends, but you are new to all this, Dany. This is your first time _really_ experiencing a relationship with a man, who isn’t Jorah, or those other two assholes, and if you go all in now and expose yourself to the fantasy of what Jon Snow represents, I would hate to see you fall into despair when the cruel reality hits.”

Dany opened her mouth again to protest, but Missandei squeezed her hand gently in reassurance.

“Jon Snow is nothing more than a _fantasy_ , Dany. That’s all he’ll ever be. You have to keep that mentality if you hope to protect your heart from disappointment and pain. I’m glad he was able to give you a taste of what true affection is like,  but trust me, there will be other men, even better men that will treat you just as wonderful, and you’ll end up falling in love with. Jon Snow is _not_ that man. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Dany did, and she knew her friend was right, yet she found it so frustrating to explain why this felt different. Yes, ‘Jon Snow’ was a fantasy, but she had seen the _real_ Jon, and that was the Jon she hoped she could get Missandei to see and understand. But how? It wasn’t as if she could drag her to Jon’s home and force them to spend time together. Not that she even knew where Jon lived.

Fortunately, Missandei dropped the subject and the rest of the day was spent preparing for Jorah’s arrival, getting more acquainted with simple vocabulary, and surprising Missandei again by wanting to spend some time outdoors. Winter was definitely on its way, for it was a rather cool afternoon where they were forced to wear their jackets.

Jorah would find them there hours later, with the dogs barking in happy recognition when he stepped onto the terrace. Laughing, he fell to his haunches to greet them in kind, but there was no mistaking the shock on his features as he finally noticed the stunning woman in the wheelchair smiling warmly at him. His breath caught in silent awe, for he had never really seen her features in full before. Once or twice she might have taken off the mask, but never the entire shield he had come to know her for.

“Is this an impostor?” he asked, when he could trust himself to speak while rising to his feet to hug Missandei who laughed at his question. “Could this really be Miss Daenerys Stormborn sitting outdoors and enjoying some fresh air? The gods are indeed good.”

Dany giggled and wrapped her arms around him tightly when he knelt before her. He had been gone for so long, seeing him in all his glory was overwhelming. She had almost forgotten just how tall, broad, and good-looking he was, and as he hugged her back in kind, Dany couldn’t help the stray thoughts of giving into the older man’s silent pleas for copulation. She wondered if he’d be just as attentive and caring as Jon had been.

“It is good to see you again,” Jorah signed as he spoke. “I have missed you.”

“I-I mi-missed you t-t-to.”

You could have knocked the big man over with a feather. His jaw must have been somewhere on the ground, and this sent the women bursting into helpless giggles as he tried to wrap his mind around the fact that he was hearing her _speak_ for the first time since he’d known her. Three long years in the making, and never had a voice sounded so sweet. This called for a celebration!

Dinner that night was a traditional Naathi dish of fresh fish vegetable soup with roasted shrimp and pea couscous salad. It was washed down with fine arbor wine which left Dany feeling a little tipsy especially as they began unwrapping the gifts Jorah had purchased for them during his travels. There were the delicious dates (and apricots) from Myr as Missandei had requested, fine hand-woven silk scarves and gowns from Jhala for both women, and a breathtaking beaded necklace from Walano, which Jorah helped put around Dany’s neck. The amber and coral beads, each with intricately carved mystic symbols etched within, seemed to come to life against her pale skin, and her admiring audience admitted it was indeed beautiful.

The next week was spent playing catch up, with Dany hanging on to the stories Jorah would regale her. She lived voraciously through his adventures, and maybe someday she’d be brave enough to accompany him on such excursions. Neither she nor Missandei brought up the escort weekend, and whenever Jorah felt compelled to query about her sudden change in behavior and attitude, Missandei simply put it to the change in scenery.

“Looks like Westeros was the best decision after all.”

With her permission, Jorah began inviting business partners into the home, and though Dany was still skittish about being in the presence of so many people – and would choose to remain in her bedroom or art room after quick introductions were made - she did find it somewhat soothing to hear the sounds of laughter and discussion especially on the night Jorah hosted a casual dinner for them. She was content to let him take charge of things with the caveat being she was to be kept abreast of matters related to her family. Despite the tales of the Targaryens going bankrupt and no longer being a factor on the world’s stage, Dany still had a major say in what was left of her great-great-grand Uncle Aemon’s estate, and at the moment, her main goal was eventually purchasing Dragonstone from the conglomerate currently making money off it as a tourist attraction.

In reality, Dragonstone felt more of an abstract than any real connection to her childhood. She had never been there and had only seen photographs in magazines and online about a place once owned by her ancestors. Sure there were the stories she had heard from Pa Aemon, Viserys, and even Ser Davos, but aside from those, Dragonstone was simply nothing more than a reminder of a family she no longer had. One could assume she was only pursuing its ownership as a matter of pride, and they wouldn’t be wrong. She didn’t even mind it being a tourist destination, as the current owners had done their best to preserve most of the artifacts within. In fact, from the positive reviews she had read about the castle, it seemed visitors were left even more intrigued about the Targaryens and their history.

All the same, Dany felt the property should be under _her_ name as a matter of principle.

It was while reading over documents regarding this potential meeting that Dany was reminded of what Arya had said regarding her childhood home. It seemed incredulous to Dany at the time, that someone would be that callous enough to simply destroy a family home just to put up a mall, but doing some research showed just how ruthless the North could be when it came to inheritances and land claims.

The White Way Mall and Recreation Center was quite impressive if you were simply content to look at the architecture and read the positive reviews from its pleased patrons. There was no doubt it was bringing in much-needed revenue to a section of the region in desperate need of it. It also wasn’t difficult to see who was responsible for the takeover: The Bolton Group. With a reputation for being hardnosed with their business dealings, the current CEO, Ramsay Bolton, had seized the opportunity the moment he heard about the unfortunate Stark accident. Hardly waiting for the bodies to be buried, he began putting in a bid for the estate, knowing full well that with Jon’s bastard status and Arya not being of legal age to contest it at the time, he was able to bribe and con his way into securing Winterfell. Some Stark loyalists had put up a fight, but when it came to money and influence, it was easy to see why Ramsay got his way.

Dany was tempted to ask Jorah to look into the matter, but she worried that he’d regard the request as random and strange. Why concern herself with Winterfell when the task of getting back Dragonstone was a hassle as is? The Baratheon Corp weren’t going to cave in easily, and it was taking all of Jorah’s patience to get them to see reason.

“Short of you going in person to speak to Stannis,” Jorah said with a sigh as they poured over the paperwork on the table before them. “He’s not budging, Dany. I really don’t know what else to do.”

Feeling sorry for him, she reached out to trace the lines of weariness around his eyes and cheeks, while signing that perhaps it was his turn to take a vacation. He’s been working so hard the past few months, he deserved the time off. Her intentions were simply platonic concern for a friend, hence her surprise at his sudden grasp of her hand to hold it prisoner against his cheek, his lashes drifting closed as if helpless to her touch. When he placed a tender kiss to her palm, she shivered and not in complete repulsion either. It was only a painful reminder that it had been over a week since she had seen or spoken to Jon, and while a part of her sneered at her silly thoughts – after all, like Missandei had said,  he was probably balls deep in some other woman halfway across the world – what stopped her from giving Jorah what he wanted?

“Forgive me,” came the hoarse whisper as he lifted his lashes and pinned her with a look other women might have melted at the sight of. “But it’s been so long since…and seeing you again…I…really have missed you, Dany.”

He placed another kiss on her palm, not tearing his gaze away from hers. Taking that as her acquiescence, he became bolder, allowing his lips to trail up her sleeved arm until he was close enough to caress her cheek. His breath was uneven and the rough sensation of his beard against her skin not too unpleasant. When his lips finally brushed hers, she kept her eyes open in curious anticipation, wondering if she would feel the same thrill that had coursed through her veins at Jon’s kiss. She was patient as Jorah tasted her, hardly moving despite the warmth forming in the pit of her stomach at the pleasant sensation of such intimate human contact. It felt good…nice even, but there was no surge of intense heat or the jelly-like weakness in her knees. And when his tongue rubbed roughly against hers, Dany wondered if Jon had effectively ruined any opportunity to ever feel the same for any other man.

_Dear gods, I miss him._

Jorah would finally realize his kisses weren’t being reciprocated and he pulled away slowly, his gaze puzzled and slightly agitated at her tentative smile. Clearing his throat, he sat back on the chair and began arranging the documents, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment at what had just transpired.

“I should finish this in my office,” he muttered for they were in the library at this time. His ‘office’ was once Pa Aemon’s, but she had given Jorah permission to use as deem fit. “It’s been a long day for both of us.”

Feeling horrible at not giving him what he wanted, though her lips still tingled from the pressure of his kiss, she signed her apologies and tried to smile again. Unfortunately, he was too upset to care and left with nothing more than a curt nod in farewell.

 **He’ll get over it,** Missandei texted back when Dany told her about it later. She was now tucked in bed, with Drogon lying beside her and Viserion and Rhaegal settling at the foot of the bed. With her hair unraveled from its braid, and slightly fluffed from being washed and blow-dried, Dany looked fifteen – something Missandei was quick to mention when she facetimed her friend. Not that Missandei had room to talk. She almost looked ghoulish with the thick layer of cold cucumber cream slapped all over her face.

 **He looked hurt,** Dany replied while worrying her lower lip. **I hated it.**

**The kiss or the fact that he was hurt?**

**Both…I guess.** Dany pursed her lips in thought and typed again. **I mean the kiss was nice, but not…it was nice.**

 **You’re comparing him to Jon Snow, aren’t you?** The ever-astute Missandei noted. **Maybe I should hire him for a weekend, so I can see just what kind of power he’s got over you. I need me a taste of that magic dick too.**

Dany giggled, despite the hard knot to form in the pit of her stomach at the idea of Missandei sleeping with Jon. She knew it was ridiculous to feel jealous considering Jon’s job anyway, but still…sharing him with her ‘sister’ felt weird.

After some more idle chatter about the latest celebrity gossip, they said their goodnights with a promise to continue practicing her speech tomorrow.

Unfortunately, after half-an-hour of tossing and turning or absently scratching Drogon’s ears, Dany knew sleep was not forthcoming. Restless for something to keep her occupied, she sat up and turned on the T.V., flipping through the channels before coming to a stop at the sports station Jon had enjoyed watching. It was a bit difficult to follow what was going on, but the gist of it was that Jon’s team – the Winterfell Wolverines – and Storm’s End Stags were apparently going to be playing in the final championship match next Sunday. Recalling Jon’s excitement (after all seeing him curse at the screen, bite his nails, groan in misery, or hug and smother her with kisses of joy when his team scored, was not something one could forget easily), she wondered if he had tickets to see the game live or if he’d watch it at home. It would suck if he had to work on that day, but with how passionate he was about the sport, she was sure he would have asked for the day off.

 _So, why don’t I just ask him myself?_ She thought with her heart now pounding just a little harder. Plucking the phone from the bedside table, she cradled it in her trembling hands for some time before taking a deep breath and pulling up his name.

If anyone had told her that simply typing out the words ‘Hello. How are you?’ would be the most difficult thing in the world, she would have probably laughed in their faces. Yet she was, five tedious minutes later, typing and backspacing and calling herself every name in the book for being so indecisive. With a final muttered curse, she reached into the bedside table’s drawer to withdraw a journal where Jon’s note was tucked neatly between its pages. She hesitated to call them ‘diaries’, as it sounded so childish a term. For instead of daily scribbles about her life, these were words she jotted down whenever her mind went into its frenzy of thoughts she was unable to articulate – not even with sign language. It was a suggestion made by her therapist in Braavos, and Dany found it quite beneficial especially on days the frustration would reach a fever pitch and her head felt like exploding.

She smoothed out Jon’s note, knowing she had already memorized its contents and it was quite fruitless having it out again, but somehow seeing the paper, his handwriting, and actually _touching_ it between her fingers made it all seem more tangible. It was a reminder that he was real and not simply a figment of an imagination or a conjured fantasy for a weekend simply to be forgotten.

_I’m so sorry, Missandei._

Gathering courage from his words, she picked up the phone again and typed quickly before she could change her mind. It wasn’t until she hit ‘SEND’ did she mentally kick herself for choosing to do this _now_. She had no idea where he was, and it was unlikely he’d be glued to his phone while dealing with a client (assuming he was with one at the moment that is). All the same, she told herself it didn’t matter. Jon would eventually have to check his messages, and whether it took him twenty-four hours or a couple of days down the road, she had kept her end of the bargain.

It was now up to him to keep his promise.

 

* * *

 

 

Jon wasn’t sure which was worse; the rubbery taste of the calamari or the loud shriek-like laughter from his client as her blood-red fingernails dug into his forearms. The joke wasn’t even that funny, and the added insult knowing it was Renly fucking Baratheon responsible for it, had Jon quietly seething as he drained yet another glass of his red wine. If he was lucky, he could get stinking drunk before the night was over and plead a headache to get out of screwing Ms. Spoiled and Entitled for the third night in a row.

Theirs was a private party, in a private dining room, with all the attention lavished on those willing to shell out the ridiculous fee for such private entertainment. There were ten of them in all, three of his fellow escorts, Renly included, two older married men without their wives for there was no way these skinny, mostly blonde twittering young women could be their significant others – and three other females who were either offspring of royalty or simply had parents with too much money to waste. Jon’s client fell in the latter.

The only daughter of Lord Marbrand, Jeyne seemed to possess all the traits associated with those close to the Lannisters (after all, they practically owned the West). The world had to revolve around her, and if she didn’t get what she wanted, there would be hell to pay. Jon might have declined her request, but the Jeyne he had first met had been decent enough and actually fun to be with. He had no idea what had transpired over the past few months to turn her into this caricature of what she once was. Probably had to do with the painful realization she was going to be married off soon to someone she had no interest in. Her wailing about it last night was the dead giveaway.

 _So live up the single life while you can, huh?_ Jon thought with a wry grin as the table burst into raucous laughter again. He hadn’t even caught the joke this time. Not that anyone seemed to notice…or at least he thought no one had.

It wasn’t until the others were dancing drunkenly around the room, did Renly – with a flute of champagne in hand - corner him brooding on the chaise lounge.

“With that look on your face, Snow, it looks like your weekend with the bitch from the Westerlands isn’t going so well.” He gave an exaggerated sigh and plunked himself down beside Jon without waiting for an invitation. Long legs clad in black velvet crossed elegantly, and the Baratheon heir took a sip of his beverage. He surveyed their party of fools and groaned. “Dear gods, the sight of them makes me puke. I feel your pain, Snow. Really I do.”

“Do you?” Jon muttered into his flute as he drank. He was close to getting a good buzz on, and the rest of the evening was about to look a bit more promising. “If I had known you’d be here, I’d have canceled.”

Renly chuckled and nudged Jon playfully. “Aww come on. Admit that seeing me was a blessing in disguise. Without me here, this party would have ended hours ago.”

“Which was the idea in the first place,” Jon protested. “You think I want to remain here a minute longer?”

“Then grab her by the boobs, squeeze them, whisper all the dirty things you want to do to her, and watch her soak the floor with how wet she becomes before she drags you upstairs. Works all the time for me.”

Jon eyed the grinning man before sneering as Renly blew a kiss in his direction. He leaned back on the chaise and closed his eyes, hoping Renly would get the message and make himself scarce. However, as the noise from the party dulled into a muted hum, Jon pondered on the idea of picking at the other man’s brain regarding a certain situation. Never in a million years would he ever want to  get advice from a guy like Renly Baratheon, but seeing as they were both in the same boat – so to speak – what was the harm?

“Renly?” he called out quietly without opening his eyes.

“Hmm?”

“…have you ever…I mean, have you ever been tempted to walk away from all of this?” Jon could almost feel the other man’s puzzled gaze directed at him, and he felt the flush of embarrassment creeping up his neck at how wrong this conversation was already going. “I guess what I’m trying to say is…have you been with anyone you wanted to give it all up for?”

“Aaaah…” came the knowing reply. There was a soft chuckle and the sound of shoulders being shrugged. “Trust me, Jon, it happens more often than you think. I’ve been tempted on more than one occasion and was sure I was head over heels for that client, but after a while, you just realize it’s nothing more than a rush of sorts. Once you’re away from them it wanes, and you find it was much ado about nothing. So, don’t you worry. You’re in good company, my gorgeous friend.”

He reached out to pat Jon’s thigh in reassurance, allowing his hand to linger a little longer than necessary before Jon shoved it away impatiently. It wasn’t exactly the answer he had hoped for, but he was aware that getting any feasible solution was going to be next to impossible. With a sigh, he changed the subject.

“How’s the boyfriend?”

Renly gave a low sound of suffering and shrugged. “Somewhere in The Vale fucking some godless bastard while I sit here pining for him. He’s not even replying to my text messages.”

Jon couldn’t help laughing softly at the pitiful whine Renly gave, though at the mention of text messages, Jon opened his eyes and absently dug into his dinner jacket to pull out his device. He knew it was rude to do this in the middle of a date, but with the way his client and her pals were clinging all over each other and entertaining themselves, he was sure they wouldn’t mind him sneaking a few moments  to see what new clients awaited him next week. Sincerely hoping Tyrion would give him a light load, he swiped through the usual notifications quickly, and just might have swiped/deleted the odd text message until his finger froze as the name blazoned across his slightly drunken mind.

_Dany._

For a heart stopping moment – and he could literally hear the blood rushing into his head – the world seemed to spin forcing Jon to close his eyes, take a couple of deep breaths to gather himself, before lifting his lashes again.

Yep. It was still there. D-A-N-fucking-Y. _Dany._

She had _finally_ sent him a text. After all his inner monologues of how she was bound to move on, and finally somehow managing to convince himself that he could and would get over her in time, she comes rushing back into his life with a message he hadn’t even opened yet.

_Fuck._

“You all right, pal?” Renly asked as he snapped his fingers annoyingly in Jon’s face. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Or did Tyrion saddle you with that dominatrix from Pentos?”

Jon gave an involuntary shudder, for even though escorts weren’t supposed to discuss their clients with one another, it was a well-known fact that Madame Beatrix was one of the more ‘interesting’ clients any of them had. Most escorts were left weeping afterwards with some even choosing to quit rather than be with her again. Jon was lucky he hadn’t met her yet. The stories were horrifying.

“I have…” He gulped and looked toward the party, wincing as he noticed Jeyne staggering barefoot toward him in her shimmering silver lame gown, its skinny straps nearly falling off her shoulders to expose her ample bosom. Her beautiful features were flushed with drink and excitement, and Jon could already see that heated glint in her eyes that told she was ready to fuck right here and now if given the opportunity.

_Seven hells!_

“Jon daaaaarling,” Jeyne crooned and fell gracelessly on his lap, sending the phone toppling to the floor. She draped her arms around his shoulders and buried her face against his neck to place baby kisses on his skin. “I’m so fucking hoooorny. I want your big hard cock inside of me.”

“Jeyne…sweetheart…?” Jon grimaced as his phone was kicked beneath the seat thanks to Renly rising to his feet to rejoin the party.

“Daddy’s being so meaaaan to me,” Jeyne was now complaining in a drunken slur as her tongue lapped at his cheek. “Saays I should be more responsible and bullshit like that. Like…what the fuck do I care about helping orphan children? Huh? Do I look like someone who gives a shit about orphans? Urgh!”

Cursing beneath his breath, Jon had to lift her off his lap and lay her on the couch, causing her to blink slowly in confusion. “Whaaa? Whaa are you doin’ on the floor, Jon?”

Jon, who was desperately searching beneath the damned furniture for his device was close to pushing the whole thing aside, when his fingers finally brushed against it. Giving a breathless ‘yes’ in victory, he rose to his feet only to nearly be toppled to the floor as Jeyne pounced on him again.

“You’re ignoring me, Joooon,” came the pouty whine. “I waaant you to pay attention to me. Leave that stupid phone aloooone.”

Knowing it was going to be pointless answering this now, Jon tucked it away and mustering up all the charm he could scrap from the pit of his frustrated mood, he flashed a grin and grabbed Jeyne into his arms.

“All right, sweetheart,” he rasped into her ear, sending her squealing with pleasure. “Let’s go have some fun.”

 

* * *

 

Two long hours (no thanks to dozing off after the deed) and a quick shower later, Jon sat overlooking the Sunset Sea from the penthouse patio clad in only a pair of black boxer shorts and a mild sense of despair. It was a picturesque sight…well as picturesque as it could be at five in the morning with sleek yachts - of various sizes - bobbing just off the bay, the faint horns of incoming cargo ships drifting back to the famous port, while the hustle and bustle of early risers ushered in a new day. The wet smells of salt and sand filtered up to his quiet place as he sighed heavily and gazed at the damning notification still beckoning his response.

_Dany._

All those feelings of elation, surprise, and happiness at seeing her name the first time were now marred by the stains of what he had done with Jeyne. He felt tarnished, a plant withering beneath the weight of his ‘sins’ at the thought of the ‘innocence’ he had left behind at 45 King’s Gate Road. He had no idea what her message could be, but he realized sitting here and moping about it wasn’t helping matters either. She had sent this almost two nights ago, and he hated to think she was under the impression she was being ignored. He had opened the door to this new phase in their relationship, so he had to bear the responsibility of seeing it through no matter how miserable it made him.

Rubbing his hand on his thigh nervously, he took a deep breath and swiped the notification open, unaware of his held breath or his quickening pulse at the simplest yet poignant of messages to greet him.

**Hello, Jon. How are you? I hope you are doing well. Thank you for the note you left. It was nice of you to do so. My children miss you.**

She had cut off the first message here, only to continue as if it was an afterthought.

**And so do I.**

He read and re-read the words until they soon became blurry. Clearing his throat, to suppress the hard lump to form in his throat, Jon closed his eyes and arched his head to the heavens.

 _All you have to do is request for me again,_ he thought with a desperation that was near frightening to him. _Just type the words, and I’ll find a way to be with you again. You don’t even have to pay a thing._

When he felt composed enough, he sat up to finally write his response, hoping he didn’t sound too needy or overly excited to hear from her.

 _Simply leave the door open for her to make the next move,_ he figured as he typed. His job wasn’t to force the issue.

 **Hi, Dany. It’s good to hear from you again. I’m in Lannispor** (backspacebackspacebackspace). **I’m doing well and miss you as well as the dogs. I wonder if Drogon has forgiven me yet.**

SEND.

Short. Sweet. Simple. Friendly-ish. There should be nothing to –

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted at the familiar chime of his notifications going off. For a second, he stared dumbly at the name on the screen, and almost burst into laughter at the idea that Dany was half-way across Westeros, wide-awake and responding to him right now.

Unable to stop the idiotic smile forming on his face, he swiped open the message with a trembling finger.

**Drogon is here trying to eat my phone. I think he says hi. But Jorah’s here to take them out for their morning walk, so I can get some breathing room. Phew. Why are you up so early?**

_Because I couldn’t fucking sleep,_ was Jon’s immediate answer within his mind, but he settled for typing: **I’m an early bird believe it or not. It’s great to take a walk so early in the day. It’s peaceful.**

Her response seemed to take forever, but when it came, her simple **‘I bet’** sent a pang of awareness through his chest. He had used the words ‘walk’, which was a painful reminder of her inability to do so for long periods of time. Perhaps, she had once loved doing such things, but now…

He shook his head and sought to change the topic, but she did that for him by asking: **Are you going to watch the championship game live or on T.V?**

**T.V. I’m off that weekend.**

There was another long pause and Jon could almost picture Dany fussing over what to type next. At last –

**I wish I could invite you to come over, but Jorah might not understand our relationship.**

_Fuck Jorah,_   Jon’s inner voice railed against her reasoning, but he could understand her trepidation. **Don’t worry about it,** he typed. **You can just introduce me as a friend.**

**Yes, but…how did we meet?**

Jon cursed beneath his breath. How indeed? It wasn’t as if Jorah was going to believe that Jon just happened to accidentally walk up to the gates of 45 King’s Gate Road one fine day, so that reasoning was out of the question.

 **Ah, I’ve got it!** She typed. **You are a friend of Missandei’s, and she introduced us. We could go with that. Right?**

**Will Missandei play along?**

There was another pause and then: **I’ll make her see reason. It’s not as if we’re going to do anything except watch a football game, right?**

Jon raised a brow; a filthy thought slipping through his mind before he shook his head and kicked himself for even considering such a thing. **That’s right,** he typed. **We are only watching a game. I’ll bring the beer and introduce myself as a –**

 **A classmate of Missandei’s,** Dany finished when he drew a blank. **You can bring Arya and Ghost if you want. It will make it more realistic about us being only acquaintances.**

**Sounds like a plan if I can find Arya that is. I think she’s permanently moved in with her boyfriend.**

**LOL. That’s cute. They did look very happy together.**

**Blergh. Please don’t make things any worse,** Jon typed as he made a face. **I’m still trying to get my mind around that.**

**She’s a big girl now, Jon. You better start getting used to it.**

Jon chuckled and was just about to respond when he heard his name being called from indoors. It was a bitter reminder of his reality, and he groaned in weary resignation as he studied the dots showing Dany still typing. For several blissful minutes, he had almost felt her presence in this very space, as if she was sitting right across him with that beautiful smile or those stunning violet eyes...

**Jon? Are you still here?**

“Joooon?” came the other whine from the bedroom. “Where are yoooou?”

 **I’m here,** Jon typed. **But I have to get off the phone now. Text me about next weekend’s plans, okay? I’ll catch you later.**

He’d have just enough time to send the message before the sliding doors opened and a naked Jeyne – save for his dress shirt from last night draped loosely around her – glared at him impatiently.

“Didn’t you hear me calling you, Jon Snow? You’ve been acting weird since last night.”

Whatever else she might have begun bitching about was silenced as he sealed her lips with his and swept her into his arms. He had only four more hours to deal with this, and then…grateful and most merciful _freedom_.

 

* * *

 

“Absolutely not,” Missandei huffed as she chopped the carrots with a little more ferociousness than needed. “You don’t seem to be listening to a damn thing I’m saying to you, Dany.”

 _It’s just to watch the game,_ Dany signed with growing impatience. _It’s not like I’m asking him for another weekend. We are just going to be friends. Besides, he’s bringing his dog and sister along._

“One big happy family,” came the muttered words as the Naathi tossed the vegetables in the pot, stirred forcefully, before having a taste of the seafood gumbo she was making. “This is going to end up badly, Dany. I just know it.”

_It will be fine. I don’t understand why you’re so against it._

“Because I’m worried about you,” Missandei snapped as she whirled around to face her friend. “You are putting too much trust in this guy, and you hardly know him. If he breaks your heart like all the others, I can’t…” Her voice caught, and she forced herself to take a deep breath, before speaking as calmly as possible. “I can’t bear to watch you sink into that darkness again, Dany. It would kill me. Do you understand?”

_Oh…that…_

Dany’s heart stirred at the sight of the tears in Missandei’s eyes, now realizing just how much this whole situation affected her. It brought back memories of the many times Missandei had saved her from the brink of death and knowing how fiercely protective she had become since then, it was both awful and wonderful to know someone cared for her this much. All the same –

 _It will be different this time,_ Dany signed. _I’ve learned a lot over the years, and I’m not going to make the same mistake again. Just as I put my trust in you when we were in Vaes Dothrak, this time –_

“Tr-tr-trust m-me,” she said out loud as she tugged on Missandei’s skirt as a child would hope to garner the attention of her mother. “Pl-pl-please.”

“Oh for the gods’ sake, don’t give me that puppy dog expression,” Missandei tried to chide her despite the sniffle. She leaned down to give Dany a tight hug and a hard kiss to her temple before sighing and rising up again. “Well fuck…guess I have to speak to Jon so we can get our stories straight.” She paused, staring hard and long at the bubbling soup in the pot before asking quietly. “You think Jorah will like him?”

Dany nodded with fervor despite the dull pang of concern still flitting in the recesses of her mind. _Why wouldn’t he?_ She signed. _Jon can charm the pants off anyone._

Or so she hoped.

“A football match?” Jorah would ask incredulously when the women brought up the topic at dinner. “Next Sunday?”

“Yes…uh…a colleague of mine at the university,” Missandei said as she and Dany exchanged quick looks. “He’s a rabid football fan, and I thought it would be wonderful for Dany to be exposed to more friends of mine. He’s got a sister and a dog just like Dany’s babies, and they should get along fine.”

“Hmm.”

 _It’s only to watch the game,_ Dany signed with what she hoped was her most charming smile. Considering their relationship, since the kiss, was still in its awkward stages, she could only hope Jorah wouldn’t prove to be too difficult.

“I guess it couldn’t hurt,” the older man finally replied as he helped himself to another spoonful of the delicious meal. “And you say he’s a Winterfell Wolverine fan?”

“That’s right. You’re from the area, aren’t you?”

“Bear Island,” Jorah reminded them with a smile, “But any northerner is a friend of mine too. So yes, we can cheer the Wolverines together and hope for the win. Should be interesting to meet this Jon Snow, hmm?”

The women exchanged victorious looks until the next words from his mouth had them wincing in mild panic.

“Although that name sounds a bit familiar…Snow…a bastard, hmm?”

“Uh…yes?” Missandei replied carefully.

Jorah’s brows knitted in thought. He seemed poised to say something else but settled for shrugging and continuing his meal causing the women to look at each other again with concern.

Missandei’s eyes burned with that familiar warning of how wrong things could end up, and Dany – with a flash of a weak smile - could only lower her head, cross her fingers, and hope for the best.

 

* * *

 

Strolling through the airport terminal at King’s Landing, Jon scrolled through the barrage of messages he had ignored on the flight.

Reminders to pay his rent, pick up his suits from the cleaners, schedule a dental appointment, blah, blah, blah.

Tyrion had sent him a new schedule – a light load as requested thank the gods.

Arya was back, and could Jon please pick up some groceries on the way home pretty please? (see list attached)

Theon wanted another invitation to the gym – no way in hell.

Renly wanted another ‘Boys Night Out’ in between bitching about Loras not paying him any attention. (what in the gods’ name had made him give out his phone number to Renly?)

Tormund was still over the moon as this girl – Brienne was her name apparently – was interested in joining him for drinks at Hot Pie’s. By the way, were they still up for watching the championship game at his place on Sunday?

 

Which had Jon wincing for he had completely forgotten they made plans for that. He hated to have to disappoint his buddy, but since he had not heard anything from Dany or Missandei yet…oh wait…

There it was. A text from both women. Dany’s was a simple but excited: **It’s on! She’ll do it!**

While Missandei’s was a more subdued: **Please call me as soon as you can.**

 _Guess I have to cancel our date, Tormund,_ Jon thought with as much regret as he could muster for his pulse now raced with giddy anticipation at seeing a certain woman again.

Unfortunately, that brief high would be shattered as he recognized a name and message from the one person most escorts would rather not want to see on any given day. It was rare for Cersei to personally text anyone, and it was usually never to say, ‘great job’.

His fears were confirmed as he swiped the message open, for though short and sweet, the words had his head and heart pounding with the possible worrisome implications.

_Stop by the office once you arrive, Jon. We need to talk._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	10. Hidden Truths

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thirty pages - yes...you read that right. THIRTY pages - two chapters in one, but could not break 'em or you'd all be screaming 'Bloody Cliffhanger!!!!!' or something worse *lol*  
> Enjoy, and I'm probably taking a vacation after writing this doozy, but then again, even I'm interested to see the next chapter too! Eeek!  
> Thanks for all your feedback and encouragement, and again....enjoy! *bows and hops off*

_Thanks to the wonderful[Anitah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anitah/profile) for the lovely moodboard!_

 

* * *

 

 

The spartanesque offices of _The Night’s Watch_ crouched beneath the looming crimson shadows of the Red Keep, seat of the current government of Westeros. It seemed an odd site for such an enterprise, but with its unassuming beige exterior, gothic-inspired tinted windows, and no blaring sign disclosing its real intent, Cersei Lannister continued to maintain the illusion of innocence in the face of depravity.

The two-story building was divided into sections, the first floor belonging to a fashion house – _The Golden Thread_ – owned by one of the many Lannister descendants with a clientele that boasted of the Who’s-Who of Westeros. It’s annual fashion shows were a must-attend, and its window dressings were likely to attract many gawkers especially during the Fall/Winter season. To get to the _Night’s Watch_ , however, one had to bypass the glitz and glamor, make a sharp right toward what seemed like an imposing alley, and up a flight of wrought-iron spiral steps leading to the second floor.

Once through the silent automated sliding doors, one was accosted with the rather aseptic choice of design. An austere theme of white-washed walls, with _The Night’s Watch_ logo of a black crow flying over its initials, towered over the head of the smiling brunette receptionist nearly hidden behind the oversized semi-circle desk of black mahogany. A matching leather couch was available for ‘visitors’ (more like escort hopefuls) in the waiting area. There was also an array of current fashion and beauty magazines spread across the glass-top coffee table for reading, though someone had the foresight to leave a copy of today’s newspapers on top. Unfortunately, its blaring headline of the stock market plummeting overnight was not exactly the kind of feel-good news Westeros needed at this time.

A generous-sized flat screen monitor took up one side of the room and would usually roll clips of all the escorts available for offer (a taste of what’s ahead, so to speak). At the moment, it was on mute, though it continued to show rather cheesy clips of escorts in sexy poses or feigning joy for their clientele in mock dinners, parties etc.

Jon tried not to wince as his mug flashed on the screen accepting the kisses of two lovely scantily-clad Dornish models. He could still remember the video shoot, and how many takes they had to go through to get the campy ‘party-on-the-yacht’ scene just right.

For the rest of the décor, there were only two large white clay pots of rich emerald ferns, the only spot of color around…if you discounted the receptionist’s marigold blouse. She lifted her head from her ‘arduous’ task of nail filing to flash a grin in recognition.

“Heeey, it’s you! Been a while, eh, Jon?” she greeted in that familiar accent that betrayed her Lyseni roots. It was rather sexy if you didn’t mind having to strain to understand what she said sometimes.

“It’s good to see you too, Mysaria,” Jon replied with a smile, accepting her offered hand to place a kiss on the back of it. He whistled at the glittering rock sitting on a well-manicured finger and winked playfully. “Do not tell me that asshole finally proposed to you?”

Mysaria tittered in delight and held up the hand as if seeing the diamond engagement ring for the first time. “Oh, this ol’ thing,” she gushed and waved a hand in dismissal. The flush on her cheeks told the story anyway. “It’s about time he popped the question. After tossing so many hints his way, he finally got it. Phew.”

Jon chuckled, for the ‘he’ was Bronn – a friend to Tyrion Lannister (though in many circles he was known for doing the dirty work behind the scenes). It wasn’t uncommon to see the scruffy, tall man hanging around _The Night’s Watch_ , content to do his job and nothing else. However, to sharp observers the usual sullen, smartassed bodyguard had taken an interest in the feisty Lyseni at the front desk. After almost a year of ‘would they or wouldn’t they?’ – with wagers being cast among the escorts – hearing that Bronn had finally taken the plunge was a miracle in itself. For all they knew, Bronn was a man who valued his freedom and wasn’t averse to partaking in as many women as he could handle in any local brothel. The thought of settling down was like a cancer.

With this new development, however? Mysaria must _really_ have him at her mercy. Good for her.

“Cersei in?” Jon asked before she could begin gushing about her fiancé. “She told me to see her as soon as I arrived.”

“No wonder you look like shit,” Mysaria joked and punched a button on the intercom. “You’ve got bags under your eyes, sweetheart. Hold on…Ms. Cersei?...Jon Snow’s here…all right…will do.”

She punched off the device with a red-tipped fingernail and flashed another grin at Jon. “She’s all yours. Good luck.”

Jon was sure she had meant nothing ominous with that phrase, but as he made his way down the narrow white-washed corridor accentuated with black and white portraits of half-naked men – by rank – on one side, and the other with doors leading to smaller administrative offices, the studio (where photo and video shoots took place), the ‘Closet’ (for clothes and make-up), a couple of public restrooms, a conference room with a usually nice view of the congested traffic just beneath Aegon’s Hill (though the black blinds were drawn at the moment), before coming to halt before the intimidating black door with the gold lion knocker, Jon felt the cold weight of dread settling in the pit of his stomach.

He stared for several agonizing seconds at the gold plaque with the words ‘CERSEI LANNISTER – CEO’ and wondered, for the umpteenth time, what she could possibly want him for. He had taken a quick look at his profile page on the way here, but had not seen any negative reviews, not even from a weary Jeyne who had barely lifted her head from the pillow as he said his farewells.

_Did she end up saying something anyway?_ he pondered as he tugged at the collar of his grey shirt before running fingers through his hair restlessly. He could try explaining his way out of his reasons for any complaints. However, as his glance caught the blown-up portrait of a smug-faced Jaime Lannister, posed on silk sheets with nothing but a pelt of fur draped just low enough to cover his manhood, Jon cursed beneath his breath and rapped his knuckles upon the door. He couldn’t dare look at _his_ portrait right next to Jaime’s. He wished they would have used another shot of him instead of –

“Come in,” came the deep rumble of a voice that was definitely not Cersei’s.

Rolling his eyes in disbelief, Jon pushed the door open and was greeted with the sight of pale ass cheeks rocking back and forth slowly against Cersei’s desk. Despite the strings of soft classical music playing in the background, there was no mistaking the wet sucking sounds emanating from the unseen figure before Jaime. Jon shook his head and began to excuse himself, but Jaime – with that shit-eating grin on his features – raised a hand to stall him.

“…s’okay,” he grunted. “She’ll…uh…be done….in a…fu-fuck…minute. Urgh.”

His hips moved faster, and Jon turned away to focus on the black shelves filled with books and journals he doubted Cersei even read. Oh, there was no mistaking she was smart, but Jon was yet to catch her actually opening the pages of anything meaty –

Not compared to a certain bookworm he had spent a most unforgettable weekend with.

He was unable to stop the smile to come to his lips as he plucked a random selection from the shelf – _Sex, My Addiction_ \- (go figure), wondering if Dany had finally finished that book about her ancestors and moved on to something else. With how much she read, perhaps she had even gone through all the books in that darn library. That wouldn’t be a surprise to –

“Didn’t pin you as a reader, Snow,” came the sudden husky voice so close to his ear, Jon flinched and backed up hard against the shelf sending some of the figurines and framed pictures toppling to the floor.

“If you break anything, you’re paying!” came the warning words from seemingly nowhere, until they both heard running water from an unseen room.

Jaime chuckled and continued tucking his shirt into his pants; his handsome features still flushed from their exertions. “Sorry, you couldn’t join us,” he said with as much pity as he could muster. “But she got impatient and…” He pretended to be exasperated. “Tore into me the moment I walked in here.”

Jon, not trusting himself to speak lest a wisecracking comment caused more trouble than it was worth, settled for stooping to his haunches to pick up the items that had fallen. He was stopped with Jaime placing a foot upon the figurine of a naked girl bathing. Jon closed his eyes, praying to the old gods to give him strength, before looking up with a strained smile.

“Is there a problem, Jaime?”

The Lannister studied him in silence for an unnerving minute; his features hardly giving anything away before he broke into another patronizing smile. “No, nothing at all, Jon Snow. It’s just…”

And to Jon’s chagrin, Jaime sank his fingers into Jon’s hair to caress it as a lover would. “I would hate to see you lose your place in this fine establishment,” he murmured with what could pass as genuine remorse. “Tread lightly,” came the quiet ominous warning before releasing Jon with a curt nod just as Cersei appeared from the restroom.

“You two done chatting about me?” came the dry comment as she marched toward her desk, the hard sound of her black stiletto heels on the polished wood floor, shattering through the awkward silence. The red suit was tailored perfectly for her slender frame, its only accessory, the familiar Lannister gold lion brooch pinned to the right breast. She wore no other form of jewelry, and why should she? With such arresting features, no thanks to her long hair piled high on her head in a tight braided bun, wearing anything else would have been overkill.

“We couldn’t resist, my dearest,” Jaime crooned as he approached her. He leaned close to place a kiss on her cheek but was pushed away impatiently. Probably because she was in the process of re-applying her makeup and didn’t need him smudging it. Jaime, sensing his time was officially up, settled for a hard smile and a mock salute of farewell.

“You two behave now while I’m gone,” he teased with a knowing glance at Jon who had risen to his feet by this time. And grabbing his jacket, which had been tossed on the leather couch, he let himself out of the office…with a loud slam of the door to show his displeasure.

“Such a crybaby,” Cersei muttered beneath her breath. She smacked her rouged lips and seemingly satisfied at the finished outcome, she snapped the powder case shut to pin a sharp emerald gaze on her silent companion.

“Well don’t just stand there, Jon,” she chided with a bewildered frown. “Have a seat for fuck’s sake.”

Jon did as told, not before stuffing the frames and figurines in haphazard fashion, much to Cersei’s displeasure. He sank into one of the comfortable chairs before her desk, gaze straying over the organized chaos upon it. Aside from the desktop computer, two impressive crystal paperweights of sleeping lions, three gilded framed photographs of children Jon knew were six feet under (a tragic story all around), there were piles of portfolios just waiting to be reviewed.

Jon could make out the ‘newbies’ (those with the green stickers hoping to get into the business or were just hired), and the ‘regulars’ (yellow stickers - escorts like himself still working), and of course the ‘discards’ (red stickers - escorts who had left the business or were in the process of being fired). Wondering if his portfolio was in that pile, his inner query was answered when she opened the top drawer of her desk to withdraw his.

Was that a good thing or bad?

“Would you like something to drink?” she suddenly offered as she set a pair of elegant reading glasses on her nose to open the leather dossier. She waved absently at the mini-bar at the side of the room, and Jon wasn’t surprised to find the shelves stacked with enough liquor for a small party. Cersei wasn’t shy about her alcoholic habits, and while Jon began shaking his head in denial, she ordered him to make her a gin and tonic anyway.

Wondering why she hadn’t told him to do this before asking him to sit down, he held his irritation and set about making the drink while she continued to peruse his folder like a headmistress ready to dish out the final grades of the school year. Fuck, he was even getting horrible flashbacks of his childhood and having to deal with –

“When was the last time you saw Maester Cressen?”

The seemingly random and sudden question had Jon dropping several cubes of ice on the counter. He cursed and began picking them, only to look up to find those disconcerting green eyes now watching him like a hawk would its prey. Feeling his pulse quicken with agitation, he cleared his throat and shrugged lightly.

“It’s been…a while.”

“Over six months,” Cersei reminded him with a faint smile that was anything but warm. “Your sister keeps her appointments, but you…” She waved a hand over his dossier and tried to look bemused. “Nothing. He tells me you feel you’re okay-”

“And I _am_ okay,” Jon began arguing, while trying to ignore the sharp reminder of his panic attack in Dany’s driveway or the recent pangs of despondency to wash over him especially at work.

“Really?”

“Yes,” he growled through clenched teeth.

They maintained a silent battle of wills before she broke eye contact with a wave of her hand. “The drink please. Something tells me I’m going to need it. Might as well bring the rest of the bottle with you.”

“Is this going to be a lecture about keeping my shrink appointments?” Jon asked once he was back in his seat and watched as she all but drowned the contents of the glass in one gulp.

“Don’t get fresh with me, Jon Snow,” she snapped irritability. Eyeing her empty glass, she grabbed the bottle and refreshed its contents, only this time, she settled back in the swivel chair and crossed her long legs. “Do you think I pay for your goddamn appointments because it’s fun? There’s a reason I make these meetings compulsory, and your recent attitude has given me cause to wonder if we should be reevaluating your position in this company.”

Jon winced inwardly, now wishing he could have accepted her offer for something strong. He could already feel the tightening grip of that familiar cold claw around his chest – that grip that somehow made the act of breathing difficult.

“My recent attitude?” he found his lips parting to ask. His voice felt discordant. Not his. A disembodied sound of disassociation. “What do you mean?”

“Hmm, let’s take a look, shall we?” Cersei sneered as she leaned forward again to point at his dossier. “It’s all well and good for your clients to leave five stars on your profile page, but you forget we actually do follow ups and speak to them directly to get feedback. Usually for repeat clients, we don’t have to especially if they don’t complain, but, when I begin getting queries wondering ‘if you’re okay’, and ‘Jon looks unhappy’ or ‘he seemed distant most of the time’ or ‘he called out someone else’s name’…then we’ve got problems, Jon.”

_Seven hells_ …when had he called out –

“And Tyrion tells me you keep requesting light schedules or you request for certain dates to be shifted around to accommodate specific clients…one in particular.”

_Dear gods, please don’t tell me I’m banned from seeing her…_

“Ms. Dany Storm,” Cersei read out carefully. “It seems most of the complaints have come from the moment you were sent to work for her.” She lifted her head and took off the reading glasses. “Something tells me this particular client has made an impression on you, Jon. Would I be wrong with that assumption?”

Jon said nothing, but Cersei must have read something in his expression for her lips curved into a cold smile.

“Figures,” came the quiet statement. “Targaryens were always known to have that sort of power over we mere mortals.” Cersei raised a brow at the sharp look thrown her way. “Oh? Did you really think we didn’t know she was a Targaryen? What do you think are the odds of a home on 45 King’s Gate Road – once occupied by the eccentric madman Aemon Targaryen – now being inhabited by a ‘stranger’ from across the Narrow Sea? A stranger who now seems determined to reclaim her family’s ancestral home, Dragonstone. A story that sounds oddly familiar…ah wait, I wonder who that could be…ah yes! A certain brooding northerner I met almost three years ago, with nothing to his name, a sister he had no claim to, and no hope for a brighter future. Ring a bell, Jon Snow of Winterfell?”

Jon’s jawed worked. He remained stubbornly silent, though his hands were clenched tightly on his lap; his fingernails digging into the flesh of either one as if hoping to claw out the dark fluid within.

“Ah, my poor smitten Jon,” Cersei said with an exaggerated sigh of suffering. She rose to her feet to pace around the desk, but only to stop before him. She leaned against it, reaching out to trace his bearded right cheek with a red-tipped fingernail. She stopped as it hovered against his parted lips, and her eyes darkened with an expression not lost on him.

“Do you remember what I told you that night I took you in, Jon?” she asked softly.

For a moment, it seemed as if Jon would remain mute, but he found himself responding anyway. “Yes.”

“I wonder if you do,” Cersei prodded as she allowed her fingers to now caress the beard around his chin, ignoring the aggravated look this elicited on his features. “Because if you remember, and I think I already mentioned it…you were in very bad shape, weren’t you?”

Bad shape was putting it lightly. He had just lost his job at the construction site. He had little to no money. Arya was still stuck with Batshit Aunt Lysa, and all hope of ever getting back Winterfell from Ramsay fucking Bolton was looking like nothing more than a fantasy. Suicide had been a companion every waking minute. Until this woman –

“You swore an oath to me that night, Jon Snow,” Cersei reminded him, this time her hands were cupping his cheeks, holding his face prisoner as hers drew closer until barely a breath spared their lips. “You swore your life to me, remember?”

Yes, by the old gods and the new, he had sworn an oath in a fit of desperate gratitude. An oath that was a promise to be reunited with Arya and a means for him to reclaim Winterfell. He had simply done what any other man in his position would have done. Could anyone blame him?

“Yes…” he whispered in pained agony as he closed his eyes, suffering the sensation of her lips against his, but only for the briefest of icy kisses.

“For how long?” she reminded him as her lips trailed upon his cheek to rest against his ear. “How many years of your life did you promise me, Jon Snow?”

With his eyes still closed, Jon swallowed and croaked out a weak, “Ten…ten years…”

“Say it again,” she urged. “A little bit louder, just so I can be sure.”

“…ten years.”

“ _Ten_ years, Jon,” Cersei crowed and held his cheeks tighter until the feel of her fingernails digging into his flesh showed that she was no longer feeling so amorous. He lifted his lashes to meet the now angry flints of emerald pinned on him.

“I made a promise to you,” she clipped tightly. “I would get you a good paying job. I would help pay off your debts. I would hire the best lawyers to wrestle away your sister from the claws of your creepy Aunt. I would get her the best medical care and gain her entry into any college of her choice…well you would take that credit of course. All of this I’ve done for you, except for your silly pride wanting to get back Winterfell on your own. You refused the help of my lawyers, or by now that property would be under your name. Bastard or not. I accepted it, and all for what? Just ten measly years of your life working for me and giving me a hundred and ten percent. Is that too much to ask, Jon? Is it?”

She released him with a snort of disgust before pacing to the mini-bar, this time she found a bottle of Dornish red wine and helped herself to a glass.

“You disappoint me, Jon,” she continued with a heavy sigh. “I had so much hope for you and if you feel that keeping up to your end of the bargain is going to be a problem, then I’m ready to send you right back to square one with just a scribble of my handwriting on a few documents. That precious sister of yours…you might as well kiss her goodbye-”

“She’s of legal age now,” Jon reminded her despite the pounding of his heart and his lungs tightening ever so slightly. “She’s got the right to do whatever she wants-”

“Not so the clause agreement,” Cersei replied with a raised brow. “Did you not even take the time to read the documents my attorneys sent to you? Goodness, Jon.” She sashayed back to her chair and sank into it with a sigh of content. “If for one moment you went against your oath, Arya – no matter her legal age – would no longer be under your guardianship. And as a bastard, you’ll have no right to see or have any contact with her. And if the stories I’ve heard about your crazy aunt are right, your precious sister might never get to leave that godforsaken castle for the rest of her life. Also, I’ll sue you for everything you’ve got and make sure Winterfell remains the best Mall and Entertainment Arena in all of the North. Ramsay Bolton will send his regards I’m sure.”

She drank thirstily unaware of the raging emotions swirling within the man sitting across her. His dead gaze was transfixed on the floor, his thoughts racing through every fucked-up decision he had made all in the quest for personal happiness. No matter how brief.

“Which is why I need you to continue your sessions with Maester Cressen,” Cersei was saying. “I know this is difficult, Jon. Trust me. It’s easy to feel you’ve finally found the woman of your dreams and want to live happily ever after blah, blah, blah. Unfortunately, you just happened to pick the one woman who is…believe it not, out of your league. I’ve dealt with Targaryens before, Jon, and there’s a reason Aerys wasn’t particularly liked. That overrated gasbag. As for his son, Rhaeger…” There was a brief expression of pain and longing on her features before being replaced with nonchalance. “Let’s just say it would be better for you not to get too involved with her. Consider this an extra favor I’m doing for you just because I like you so much and would really hate to see Renly take over your number two position.”

She paused and studied his lowered head before adding almost kindly. “You don’t strike me as an oath breaker, Jon Snow. You’re a man of integrity; something you northerners, or Starks to be precise, are well known for. You’ve already given me almost three years of your life, what’s seven more? All I’m asking is for you to perform your best, and if you get tired or feel you can’t go on, go for your therapy sessions, clear out the gunk and guilt from your head and heart, and get back to work with that gusto that got you this far. I want you to succeed, Jon, I really do. So please…”

She snapped his dossier shut and waved it before her. “Don’t make me put this in the red pile of death. It would pain me more than you’ll ever know. Do we have a deal, Jon?”

She was met with silence, and with an exasperated curse, she called out sharply. “Jon! Give me a fucking answer or I swear to the gods-”

“Fine,” he finally grated through clenched teeth as he looked up with a gaze that was filled with frustrated anger. “We have a deal. Happy?”

“Thrilled.”

He rose to his feet, needing to get the hell out of there before he did something he might likely regret. He had made this bed, and he’d have to lie in it. For Arya’s sake if nothing else. He could deal with it…bear it…suffer through it.

For Arya’s sake.

“Don’t forget to set an appointment with Maester Cressen,” Cersei called out as he began to make his way out of the office. “I’ll be checking up on-!”

He cut off her words with the slam of her door, but only paced far enough to the conference room before the wave of nausea hit him like a hurricane. He barely made it into the restroom before collapsing over the sink to let go of everything he had eaten so far…which wasn’t much. He didn’t stop retching until there was nothing left to give, until his stomach muscles prickled in complaint and his throat burned from the efforts. Trembling hands turned on the faucet and he rinsed out his mouth, before splashing some water on his heated features to compose himself.

He couldn’t dare look at himself in the mirror, and it was only as he turned off the water did he realize his phone was ringing.

With half a mind to ignore it, as he was sure it was Cersei calling again to torture him, he guessed it could be Arya concerned about his whereabouts. He hadn’t exactly told her he was stopping by _The Night’s Watch_ first.

Sure enough, there were three missed calls and a couple of text messages. He ignored most of the others, until he got to his sister’s. However, instead of reading her justifiable concerns, he was stumped to see the words:

**Is it okay if Gen and I bring someone else for the football watch? I texted Dany and she told me all about it. And then I told Gen, and then he said cool, but then remembered he had promised to ask someone else, so can we bring him? I should probably ask Dany first. Ok. Bye.** **Where TF are u anyway?**

_Oh, Needle…I love you so much…_

Jon groaned and leaned his aching head against the tiled wall, willing his pounding heart and racing pulse to settle into some form of normalcy. So much for surprising Arya with the invite. Of course something like this wouldn’t have been kept a surprise for long. However, recalling that she and Dany already had a friendship established, the sobering notion of Arya suddenly being cooped within those towering walls of his Aunt Lysa’s castle and never getting to see the beautiful Targaryen ever again, hurt him more than he realized. It was made even worse with the knowledge that he could never tell Arya the truth behind her release and lifestyle, especially with the high stakes now involved with severing ties with Cersei. Losing her now was not an option. No, losing _both_ was not an option.

And so for the sake of these two women, who meant the world to him, he would have to continue sacrificing his personal happiness just to make sure they never relinquished theirs.

 

* * *

 

The muffled conversation and intermittent giggles was distraction enough to the conflicted thoughts still racing through his mind.

_I thought I knew you._

With a huff of irritation, he gave up staring at the screen of his laptop, rose to his feet and paced to the window. Being careful not to be too obvious, he tried to blend in with the thick blue drapes, surreptitiously watching the duo still outdoors. He still couldn’t believe what he was witnessing, for it seemed that so much had happened and changed in the last three months. The Dany he had said goodbye to in Braavos, had been covered from head to foot, content only to let him see those breathtaking violet eyes filled with tears. Though she had been happy to be moving back to Westeros, she still wished for his company through such a major change in her life. What had he said to her then? Something as ludicrous as ‘I’ll call you every single day, so you won’t have to miss me at all.’ Her lengthy and warm hug had lingered with him for days, that lovesick fool within latching on the hope that maybe – just maybe – her feelings for him were becoming more than just platonic.

_I thought I knew you._

Or had she just showed him the side he _wanted_ to see? That behind the once distant, reclusive, and impenetrable façade was a woman who was just like everyone else when the layers were stripped away? Missandei was definitely an influence, there was no doubt about it, for the Naathi was literally Dany’s shadow; only taking a break from her duties when it came time for her studies at the local college. He knew they had a communication all their own and was grateful for them being willing to teach him the sign language, so he didn’t feel too left out. Still, he hadn’t been with them at Vaes Dothrak through her terrible ordeal. He had no real concept of how deep her wounds went, but from the little Missandei had shared, it was enough to let him know that their devotion to each other went beyond mere friendship.

_I thought I knew you._

He felt he had come to know Daenerys Targaryen, over time, not just from the stories of the mysterious ‘white devil’ that lived in the bowels of Vaes Dothrak until his assumptions were confirmed once he met her, or the intense negotiations with the _khal_ – which to his shame, and he would never ever reveal to Dany – had involved the sale of several other humans (mostly young women) to be replacements. It was a terrible yet lucrative underground trade especially in Essos, but after seeing the last living Targaryen, and getting to live with her for some time, he made the decision to quit the business much to his partners’ disgruntlement.

Moving to Braavos seemed the safest choice at the time, and under the protection of a close associate, he was able to begin the long and painstaking process of cracking the hardened shell once wrapped around Dany. He spared no expense at finding the best therapist in town, watching like a proud parent as she slowly responded to the sessions until she was able to at least wheel herself around the manse without feeling as if the sky was going to fall on her head.

He never pressured her for anything and was willing to let her set her own pace when it came to their relationship. No matter how busy he got, moments spent with her made all the difference to him. She was a breath of fresh air compared to the stodgy companions he spent tedious hours in meetings with. She enjoyed hearing stories about his travels the most, and he would embellish some of them just to watch her expressions of wonder. Especially after she finally took off those ridiculous oversized sunglasses and surgical mask to reveal features that took his breath away. Literally.

_I thought I knew you._

He knew what sort of foods she liked, what music she listened to, her favorite books, movies, that her ‘children’ – three unique malamute puppies he had convinced a traveling salesman from the Shadow Lands to sell to him – were her pride and joy. Yes, he knew those generalized things about her, but it was the ‘other’ side of her he felt he knew even better. That she was averse to touch from people she did not know well, and only really welcomed him (and Missandei) making any such contact. He relished in being in the minority of such intimacy, confident that she would never want to be in the presence of another man – or at least consider any other person besides him in the long run – and he took full advantage of it.

He prevented her from meeting younger men of her age range, choosing instead of bring his older clients to the manse for meetings. He made it a point to subtly highlight how immature such young men could be during his storytelling, and as much as he hated to have to remind her of how she had been treated by her brother and the _khal_ , he tried to plant the seeds that only men of his age (or specifically himself) were the only means to find happiness in the future. There was no need to look for male companionship anywhere else. He – Jorah Mormont – he, who had given her a new life was the only person who could fill that void within her.

He was molding her into the perfect companion yet allowing her to take that fateful trip to Westeros  - once a sign of utmost confidence in her development – now seemed to be the worst possible thing he could have done. Perhaps the first warning signs should have been seen the moment her text messages became sporadic and less detailed. Dany was prone to writing essays for text messages, and Jorah relished in reading them often and responding in kind.

He tried to put the ‘change’ to the new environment and being overwhelmed with all that was happening. However, when even Missandei now appeared to act elusive and distant, Jorah knew he had to wrap up his travels and return to Dany as soon as possible.

What was he afraid of? What had him anxious and concerned? That in just three short months, Dany was already getting tired of him? Or had she regressed in response to his absence? This was the longest they had been apart since they met, and though a part of him was perversely thrilled at the idea of her total dependency, a tiny voice tried to dissuade his presumptuous assumptions. This voice seemed to know that there was something ‘else’ at work here, and that something ‘else’ would prove to be worse than he could have possibly imagined.

_I thought I knew you, Dany._

His fingers clutched the drapes tighter still, his dark gaze watching as Dany tried to deter Viserion and Rhaegal from fighting over the large rubber bone they were playing with. There was some sunlight peeking through the clouds, but Jorah had installed a large outdoor patio umbrella for shade, which she was thrilled with. It still didn’t stop her from wearing her long sleeve blouses or floppy straw hat, but at least she wouldn’t have to keep fleeing indoors with just a burst of sunshine.

_And look at that smile,_ Jorah mused with a frown. _That smile is…different._

It felt strange to think it, but it was true. Yes, Dany had smiled at him in the past, but even he would have been blind not to notice the sadness and wariness that still lurked around the corners of lips.

Not so these past couple of weeks.

This new Dany seemed to laugh with easy abandon and smile with the innocence of a blushing bride on her wedding day. She seemed even more eager to explore things, that wide-eyed expression of wonder now expanding beyond just listening to his stories about his travels. For fuck’s sake, she had even considered following him into town for his next meeting with Stannis Baratheon. Dany? Offer herself to go on a trip _willingly_? Dany _talking_ even if it’s just in stutters and short sentences? Dany wanting to invite _friends_ over for a football watch party, when she had never once shown interest in any sporting activity?

Who the hell was this imposter, and what really happened in these past three months?

It would have been easy to ask, and he was sure he wouldn’t have gotten a straight answer anyway, but Fate seemed to have other plans as he’d come to discover just what, or rather _who_ was possibly responsible for the change.

Jorah had found the sketchbook just outside her bedroom door late that night. She was usually careful about her art supplies, but every now and then she could be careless – a paintbrush found in a corner, or a stray crayon or two. Perfectly normal. He picked the spiral-bound book absently, for it almost two in the morning, and all he could think about was sinking into his bed and sleeping for the next ten hours – if he could manage it. Figuring he would return it to her first thing tomorrow, he headed to his bedroom with book in hand. However, curiosity struck him as he lay beneath the sheets, and as he began turning the pages, he marveled again at her talent. It wouldn’t take much for him to organize an art exhibition in her honor, and besides, it would be a great way to introduce her into high society –

_Watch out, World! The Targaryens are back in town!_

He chuckled at the stupid headline, before his smile faded in confusion at the series of sketches of a handsome young man with a mop of curly black hair either left to frame his features or pulled away from his face in a bun. At first Jorah had simply assumed she had drawn a sketch of some movie star – for he seemed to have those qualities, and it wasn’t unusual for Dany to draw such people. However, as he discovered more rough or detailed studies of this man, it was clear this wasn’t just a woman drawing a mere celebrity. This were sketches of a woman who had spent _time_ in the presence of this man, a woman who had studied every aspect of his facial expression, characteristics, and could probably draw him with her eyes closed. The nail on the coffin was the sketch of him sleeping on his side, half-naked with an expression of such content and such intimacy, Jorah almost tossed the book to the floor as if guilty of interrupting a private moment between lovers.

_Who is he?_

He tried to convince himself that he was simply overthinking things. That there was no possible way any man could have walked into this house without his knowledge (or permission). Yet, Jorah found himself padding into Dany’s art room an hour later, his head pounding with the realization that her ‘obsession’ with this curly haired man went beyond mere admiration. Why else would she currently be painting a watercolor of him; a brooding dark figure with a penetrating stare which seemed to taunt and warn him at the same time. It was unfinished, as she was still working on the lower half of his face, but there was an odd shape of a flying black bird – a crow if he was to guess – silhouetted behind him.

A black crow? What did that mean?

Needless to say, he spent the rest of the night in fitful sleep, waking up with a grouchy attitude that was not lost on his female companions. Sensing he wasn’t in the mood for chit-chat, they had escaped as quickly as possible, though he had been tempted to simply confront her about the mystery man.

_She’ll lie about it. They both will._

“Strange man?” Samwell Tarly would later repeat when Jorah decided to take his investigation elsewhere. The portly man rubbed his jaw, his ruddy features scrunched up in thought. “Hmm…I’m not sure what you mean, Mr. Mormont, sir. I mean we haven’t gotten anyone trying to steal anything-”

“I don’t mean stealing anything, but visitors,” Jorah insisted. “Did anyone visit Ms. Storm recently?”

Sam was just about to begin shaking his head again when he snapped his fingers and nodded fervently with a big grin. “Aaaah, you mean Jon, eh?”

“Jon?”

“Jon Snow,” Sam clarified with a grin. “Good man that is. He was here…eh…a couple of weekends ago. I think he was keeping Ms. Dany company for the evening.”

Jorah felt his head begin to pound, his hands forming tight fists in the pockets of his pants. “An evening?”

“Was raining that night, yeah,” Sam replied with a shrug. “He was there all day though…don’t know if he spent the night, because I had to leave early, but they got along just fine, Mr. Mormont. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

But he was worried. Worried and upset that the girls had felt the need to put up this elaborate charade just to get the escort (for yes, Jorah had done his research and discovered just who this Jon Snow really was) to return to the mansion again. It was sickening and disheartening to know that she had chosen to sleep with a male prostitute especially from that infamous _Night’s Watch_ (which explained the crow image in that painting), and was now obviously so attached to him, she felt the need to put up this ruse with Missandei – of all people – at the helm.

_But what would you have done if she told you the truth?_ A voice within taunted him. _Would you have congratulated her on finally breaking out of her shell? Does it kill you to know that after everything you did for her, it took the prowess of a much younger man to finally crack the shell you’ve been trying so hard to break? That despite all your conditioning and selfish interests, she was still able to discover who she really was without your help? That in the long run, there’ll eventually be no use for you, and she might end up falling in love with this male whore and ruin her life?_

“No…no,” he whispered and shook his head to get rid of the negative thoughts.

He couldn’t afford to let her go down that path of self-destruction, especially with a man who was in a line of business that was anything but innocent. He knew he had his sins, but at least he wasn’t sleeping with half of Westeros on the side. Dany was still naïve and still in a fragile state, all things considered, and it was his duty to protect her from emotions she had no business having at this stage in her life. Missandei should have known better than to encourage such behavior in the first place.

So fine, he would play their game and pretend not to know who Jon really was when he arrived. However, Jorah swore he would keep his eyes on the escort throughout the evening, and if there was even a hint of misbehaving or some attempt to get intimate, he was going to be making a few very important phone calls.

 

* * *

 

 

Arya made a face as she watched her boyfriend struggle into the one size too small Storm’s End jersey. With a frustrated grunt, he finally got his ‘big’ head through the neck and tugged it down…which only did more to emphasize his broad shoulders and toned torso. It was a good thing they were going to be watching the game at Dany’s house, because if they had remained at the Student Lounge – as originally planned – Arya was sure she was going to be spending half the time glaring at thirsty members of the opposite sex wanting a piece of her man. At least she ought to consider herself lucky he acted oblivious to the longing looks that came his way. Gendry only had eyes for her and made that perfectly clear.

“Where’s Grey Worm?” he asked as he grabbed the matching mustard yellow Stag scarf to wrap around his neck.

“Helping Jon with the beer and stuff. Did he finally agree to wear a jersey?”

“Nope,” Gendry said with a laugh as he helped her off the kitchen counter, not being placing a kiss on her cute button of a nose. “You think he gives a shit about our football teams? The only reason he’s coming is because we made him, remember?”

Arya laughed and tugged his hand to lead them out of the apartment, once they were sure everything was in order as Jon liked. She suffered Gendry’s teasing about her football team losing the match today, and she gave back as good as she got, both still arguing as they stepped outside and into a glorious Sunday afternoon. Perfect football weather.

Ghost, who had a Winterfell Wolverine scarf wrapped around his neck in solidarity, barked in delight at the sight of the couple. He leapt around them and allowed his ears to be scratched and head kissed before jogging back to his master’s side. Like Arya, Jon was dressed in the team colors of black and gray – and looking quite dashing if she could gush about her brother in such a way. He was loading a large cooler into the car with the help of a slender, dark-skinned man with short hair and intense but good-looking features. That was Grey Worm – an exchange student from Meereen, who was under Gendry’s care for the duration of his time in King’s Landing.

Choosing to mentor exchange students was purely optional, and Gendry might have balked at the idea of being anyone’s ‘babysitter’, but with Arya’s prodding (more to make up extra points to improve his grades), he accepted the job and hadn’t regretted it since. Grey Worm was stoic as he was intelligent and willing to learn new things. He wasn’t fussy and made for a perfect roommate. His tastes were simple, and he wasn’t a slave to material things. His room was always impeccably neat, and he was so polite, it made both Gendry and Arya sick (in a good way). He even seemed to have trouble cursing. However, the couple was determined to get him to at least say ‘fuck’ or something similar before their time was up. His knowledge of the Common Tongue was subpar at best, and with his thick accent, it was hard to understand him sometimes. However, he was a fast learner, and with their help, he was getting better with his communication.

Jon liked him on sight, even though when she had first brought up the topic of Grey Worm joining them, Jon hadn’t seemed all too pleased.

“You just can’t impose new people on Dany,” he’d argued that night. “Of course she’ll say ‘yes’ just so you won’t be upset but try to put her feelings into consideration.”

“Says the one who needs us to be there to complete your scam as some professor-”

“I am a colleague of Missandei’s – a fucking classmate, Needle. Get it right at least.”

“A _colleague_ ,” she sneered, playfully tipping the ridiculous non-prescription glasses he was wearing. “Sure thing, oh great student of Clinical Psychology. I still think the whole thing is stupid. There’s no way anyone’s going to believe you. You just look like a giant nerd with that thing on your face.”

“Thanks,” he grumbled with his cheeks turning a bright red. He knew how dorky this made him look, but he still had to go all the way with this if he was to pull it off. Missandei had all but drilled the lesson into him during their phone call. If Jon could help it, he wasn’t to talk much and to let Missandei do most of the explaining for him. Also, her warning of:

“Please try not to be too blatant with your attention to Dany. Jorah’s no fool, and if you give away your interest from the get-go, he’s going to be merciless. Do you understand?”

Great. Not only was he to pretend to be something he wasn’t, he was also going to be forced to walk on eggshells all day around Dany, and there was still that lingering warning from Cersei even if she hadn’t dissuaded him from continuing their ‘friendship’. He just couldn’t get in too deep, and the gods help him, there were moments when he was sure simply picking up the phone and calling the whole thing off would be the best thing for everyone. Yet, that selfish, desperate part of him was willing to suffer through it all just to be in her presence again. Even if it meant them sitting at opposite sides of the room, or never touching again, if he could just see her…

“Earth to Jon,” Arya called out, unaware of all the swirling thoughts racing behind the dark eyes. “We’re all set to go. Let’s do this!”

She watched him literally shake himself back to the present, and with a smile of apology to the rest, he got into the driver’s seat. Grey Worm rode shot gun, while she, Gendry, and Ghost rode in the back. Jon turned on the radio to the official match broadcast, and even though the game wasn’t on yet, the excitement was palpable with the sounds of rabid fans seeping through the airwaves. The same could be seen on the streets, with many bars opened for business where streams of fans wearing their team colors strolled through the doors with many already drunk before kickoff. Cars honked horns, with fans hanging out the windows or sitting on the roofs of the cars waving either Winterfell or Storm’s End flags in support.

“It feels like all of Westeros is having one big party,” Arya sighed in giddy pleasure as they drove past the hustle and bustle of the town and into the quieter suburbs. “I wish Dany could come out to see all of this. She’d probably get a kick out of it, right Jon?”

For a moment she got no response, and just when she was about to repeat the question, his quiet ‘yes, she would’ said a whole lot more about his state of mind. Her gaze drifted to his tense profile, noticing the silent working of his jaw, down to the tightening grip of his hands around the steering wheel. It was a reminder of how tense he had been when he returned from his last job, despite his attempts to act relaxed and ‘as normal’. She knew better than to pester him about how it had gone, knowing that if he wanted to talk to her about it, he would at his own time.

She couldn’t help wondering, all the same, if this whole premise of pretending to be a scholar wasn’t bothering him more than he let on. Jon had chosen to skip college, but it didn’t mean he was a moron. He did enjoy reading and challenging himself but was never one to be content being cooped behind a desk in some stuffy classroom. If he hated the idea of pretending to be a professor…no…a _colleague_ , then why the hell was he going through with it? Why subject himself to possible humiliation in the presence of some man who was apparently supposed to be Dany’s friend? Was Jon trying to prove his worth? Or was he just simply too enamored with Dany to care whatever the consequences might be?

Whatever the case, Arya vowed she wouldn’t sit back and just let him be pushed around. If this Jorah person proved to be a pain in the ass, fuck the roles they were supposed to play, she was going to stand up for her big brother no matter what.

 

* * *

 

“Ow, ow, ow…”

“Sorry-sorry-sorry,” Missandei apologized quickly as she lessened the grip of the braid she was currently working on. “Didn’t mean to pull it too tight.”

Their gazes met in the mirror, a silent unspoken conversation going on between them. Dany raised her hand to pat her friend’s wrist in gentle reassurance, a smile coming to her lips at the pout she received in kind. But it only hovered around for so long until Missandei broke her resolve to remain stern and smiled in kind.

“You lo-look pre-pretty,” Dany said again as she pointed at Missandei’s reflection in the mirror earning a blush from her friend at the compliment.

The Naathi was wearing a Wolverine jersey with matching gray yoga pants that hugged her trim figure in all the right places. Dany was dressed likewise, only instead of the tight clothing, she had chosen track pants and her jersey was long-sleeved. The matching scarf was draped around her neck and she played with the ends of it as Missandei did the finishing touches to an intricate array of braids slowly wrapped to form a bun on top of her head. Humming beneath her breath, she gently brushed out the rest of the curled silver hair to cascade from the bun until it shone like ripples of moonlight upon her back and down to her chest.

She ‘hmmd’ over her handiwork, her lips pursed as she took in the light makeup on Dany’s features. She looked near virginal with her choice of only foundation, pink lip gloss and just a hint of eyeliner to make those violet eyes pop out even more.

“Urgh, I hate you sometimes for being so damn gorgeous,” Missandei teased as she hugged her friend, before releasing her to pack away her tools of the trade. “But it’s almost show time. We need to start heading downstairs.”

Dany nodded in agreement, her heart now beating a wild staccato in her chest as she reached for her cell phone. The last text message was from Arya saying they were merely five minutes away, and as Drogon (who had a Wolverine scarf around his neck like his siblings) nuzzled her lap in greeting, Dany kissed him in kind and began to wheel herself out of the room and into the elevator.

Even before the door slid open, the cheering sounds from the 75-inch television (with ultra-ultra-ultra HD as Jorah liked to boast) installed in the living room seemed to resonate throughout the mansion. Talk about surround sound. It literally felt like she was in a stadium. She had also given permission for the drapes to be pulled open, and even she had to marvel at the difference it made for natural light to flood into once gloomy rooms and hallways. The delicious smells of finger foods Missandei had prepared, drifted out the kitchen, and as she wheeled herself toward it with the hope of stealing a few snacks – her stomach was already growling – she caught sight of Jorah still setting things up for their visitors.

He looked quite good wearing the Winterfell colors, the athletic wear highlighting a body that was well put together for a man his age. He smiled in greeting when he noticed her watching, and spread his arms apart as if asking ‘well? What do you think?’

Blushing faintly, Dany changed directions and moved toward the room to take a good look at all he had done so far. With some help of an interior designer, he had rearranged the furniture for a more modern appearance. Instead of being clustered with antique chairs and ottomans, two more loveseats, a chaise lounger and a sturdier coffee table made for a spacious well-lit room that was inviting and less out of the pages of a gothic novel. There were already large bowls of peanuts, chips, a variety of dips, and non-alcoholic beverages set up, and her children – always eager to try something new – were now attempting to have a taste of the snacks much to the humans’ dismay. Fortunately, they were distracted at the familiar buzzy of the gate’s intercom, heralding the arrival of their guests.

“We’re heeeere!” came the cheerful greeting from Arya, and Dany was powerless to stop the smile from coming to her face, even as she self-consciously held a trembling hand to her pounding chest. She would fail to notice the brief unreadable expression on Jorah’s features even as he excused himself to get the door with the dogs running after him.

Dany twiddled her fingers nervously. She knew she had a role to play, to act as if she was seeing them – especially _him_ \- for the first time, and to not give anything away. It was agreed that neither of them would text each other, and goodness knows how hard it had been not to check up on him each day – even if it was with a simple ‘hey, how are you doing?’. The past few days were easily the longest in her life, and now that the moment was finally here, she wasn’t quite sure of what to do with herself.

Anxiously, she checked her reflection on the window, patted her hair, winced at how pathetic she looked and would have –

“Relax, my darling,” came the sudden soothing words from her best friend as Missandei wrapped her arms around her shoulders from behind and placed a tender kiss on her temple. “I know it’s going to be like a first date but remember what we practiced.”

“Ye-yes,” Dany whispered just as familiar voices, happy barks, and laughter drifted up the driveway and through the opened front doors. Missandei released her quickly to resume her role, and Dany had to bite her inner cheek at the exuberant greeting of “Oh my goodness! Is that really you Jon Snow?” in an attempt not to burst into helpless giggles.

She clasped her hands on her lap and took a deep breath, feeling a little reassured at the sound of the men laughing over something. It seemed like Jorah was going to be accommodating after all, but as Ghost bounded into the house with her children in tow, Dany winced as the large white malamute made a beeline for her to nuzzle her lap with a familiarity not lost on anyone.

_Shit._ How could they have forgotten such an important part of the equation?

“Seems quite cozy with you already, doesn’t he?” Jorah observed with a raised brow, as Dany was helpless to scratching his head and kissing the pet in greeting as well. Ghost was all but ready to climb on her if given the opportunity.

“Uh…well, Ghost is pretty friendly,” Arya explained after an awkward moment of silence. “He gets along with everyone. It’s annoying sometimes. Haha!”

“I once had a pup like that growing up,” Gendry agreed quickly, for he too had been made aware of the roles they were to play. “Would want to lick everyone he met. Drove me nuts, I tell you.”

“Really? Interesting-”

“Ah, so let me do the introductions,” Missandei interrupted quickly as she all but shoved Arya forward. “This is Arya Stark, she is a sister to Jon Snow-”

“Only and best sister ever,” Arya said with a grin as she shook Jorah’s hand then Dany’s. There was a playful twinkle in her eyes, as she too seemed to be having a hard time trying not to burst into laughter at the ridiculous situation, but being the trooper she was, she took the reins from Missandei quickly. She reintroduced Gendry and then Grey Worm, who chose to bow politely in greeting before stepping aside to admire the mansion with a critical eye. Dany was quick to notice Missandei staring just a bit too long at the handsome young stranger and would have teased her friend about it when all possible coherent thinking flew out the window as Jon finally stepped into the house with the cooler he had been trying to extract from the car.

“Sorry, I’m late,” he began apologizing sheepishly. “Stupid thing got stuck in the…”

His words would trail off as their eyes met, and every damn moment spent in each other’s company two weekends ago, came rushing back with such vengeance, it was all Dany could do not to let out a whimper of recognition. In a few seconds, she took in the familiar mass of curly black hair she had run her fingers through, those somber – though now widened – grey eyes hidden behind a pair of reading glasses (she didn’t know Jon wore glasses in the first place, how cute!), that well-trimmed beard that surrounded lips that were now slightly parted and begging to be ravished, down to the form-fitting Wolverine jersey that showcased those powerful arms and toned torso, to the casual gray track pants and sneakers on his feet. It wasn’t as if they had planned to wear matching outfits as such a sight would be considered funny if the circumstances were any different.

“Jon,” Missandei called out suddenly to break a silence that might have seemed pregnant with tension for an eternity, but was merely seconds in reality, “This is my good friend, Dany Storm, and Dany this is my colleague at the college I was talking about…Jon Snow.”

“H-hello, J-Jon Snow.”

“It’s a pleasure to finally get to meet you, Miss Storm. Missandei’s told me so much about you,” Jon replied with a voice that was surprisingly steady.

An award should have been tossed his way for how he was able to convince himself he hadn’t heard things, and that the sweet stuttering greeting he’d heard wasn’t just a figment of his imagination. Arya (and probably Gendry’s) barely audible gasp was enough to voice the shock and joy he was trying so hard to contain.

Placing the cooler on the floor, he reached out to shake her hand – a move that she wished he hadn’t done, for the jolt to shoot through her at the contact was enough to have him giving a muttered ‘fuck’ before he looked away and released her quickly. The situation wasn’t helped with the malamutes now seeking his attention, especially Rhaegal who had clearly missed Jon the most.

“Never seen them act so familiar with a stranger either,” Jorah was saying though he shrugged and motioned for everyone to head into the living room. “Guess malamutes are friendlier than I thought.”

No one was sure of how to respond to that, but Gendry broke the silence with a loud whistle in appreciation at the set-up, and spent the next several minutes gushing about how clear the images were on screen, and just how much did it cost Jorah to buy this, and was it possible to get it on discount etc. etc. Jon, who might have automatically began heading to the kitchen to drop off the cooler, was rescued by Missandei who offered to do it. She insisted he sit down and relax, her quick warning glare reminding him of how he was supposed to act.

Taking note of the rearranged décor, and he wasn’t entirely sure he liked it as he was now so used to the way things were, Jon sat as far away from Dany’s wheelchair as he could manage. Not that it made much of a difference, for she was almost directly across him now, though facing the television. This gave him a good view of her profile, and for a long, helpless minute he studied every inch of that regal outline including how lovely her hair looked (those braids must have taken hours to get right), the silky sheen of that silver mane he would love to run his fingers through, the glint of amusement to bounce off those pretty violet eyes, the soft rosy hue of her cheeks almost matching the plump sweetness of her lips and –

“Chips and dip?” came the sudden question as a large bowl of the snack was thrust beneath his nose. He was ready to shake his head when he met Arya’s light scowl. Hardly moving her lips, she whispered to him beneath her breath.

“Keep staring like that, you idiot, and you’ll give up the whole game before it’s even started.”

Jon couldn’t shovel the salty snack into his mouth fast enough.

“Pre-game’s starting!” Gendry announced unnecessarily as Missandei arrived with a tray of steaming sausage biscuit bites. Arya offered to help, and much to everyone’s surprise Grey Worm offered his services as well; a gesture that had the Naathi slightly flustered before she tried giving a nonchalant shrug as she made her way into the kitchen with her helpers in tow. Arya would return first with a bowl of chili, and if anyone noticed that Missandei and Grey Worm took a little longer to show their faces, they kept it to themselves. They were now all into the festivities on the screen, and considering Gendry was outnumbered, he tolerated the good-natured ribbing and jabs about his beloved Stags getting a beat down by the veteran Wolverine squad.

IS THIS THE FIRST TIME THE STAGS ARE IN THE FINALS? Dany queried, with her chalkboard, as she nibbled on a sausage biscuit – her third so far because damn it, she was starving…and did miss Jon’s cooking even if Missandei was just as good.

“Well in thirty years. No one gave them a chance this year, but here we are ,” Gendry replied with a laugh. He and Arya were now sitting on the floor, neither of them able to sit still on the couch as their excitement reached fever pitch. The dogs took up positions around them, though Drogon remained at his mother’s feet and Ghost at Jon’s.

Jon noticed that Missandei, who was now popping open a can of beer for Grey Worm, were sitting together…and Jorah…well, he had taken up position right next to Dany, as if hoping to put a physical barrier between them. It meant that whenever Jon tried to steal a glance in her direction, he was met with the chiseled scruffy profile of the older man now trying to explain the rudiments of the game to Dany. Jon would have sneered at such an act considering he had done the same thing weeks earlier in this same room. If he was truly cruel, he could rub it in Jorah’s face, letting him know they had even had take-out on the floor, built a fort not less than a few feet from where he sat and fucked each other into blissful orgasms hours later.

Perhaps sensing his thoughts, Dany slid a glance in his direction, a knowing smile tugging at her lips as she –

_You sneaky lil’…_

Jon hid a smirk behind his hand as he pretended to wipe his mouth, for she had plucked the exact pillow they had used as pretend stars for their fort and placed it on her lap.

He might have given her a sign of recognition as well, when he was met with Jorah’s hard gaze. Jon winced inwardly and took a long sip from his beer can before forcing his attention to the screen. Luckily, the players were now marching onto the field, hence the topic of conversation would be entirely focused on the game and nothing else.

Dany, for her part, had never seen such collective focus tuned into a sporting event. She had thought Jon’s intensity during the semi-final match was amusing, but for the next forty-five minutes, listening to the excited yells, colorful curses, shaking fists, nails being bitten (Arya was guilty of this one), and some even getting up to pace around the room in agitation when a goal was missed (Jon) – was actually quite entertaining.

Even Jorah seemed to have relaxed a bit, if you consider how tense he became and would stomp his feet or join in the expletive fest whenever things went awry. The non-humans in the room did their best to reciprocate the humans’ moods and would either bark when they sensed excitement or give pitiful whines of dismay. Ghost, who was already used to his master’s football mood swings, was half asleep and not too interested at the moment. One too many times of having being hugged a bit too tight during victory celebrations kept him at a safe distance from possible ‘attacks’.

_What is family?_ Dany mused as she studied each face, even usually impassive Missandei get into the spirit of things. Dany was sure she had never seen her friend get this passionate about anything not related to her studies or sex-related topics. _Is this my new family, Pa Aemon? This group of the most unlikely people turning this once empty and lonely home into such a wonderful, bright, and exciting place? I once had you, Ser Davos, Mrs. Frey, Ser Morton, and Viserys to remind me that I was not alone. You said I should consider them family even if they weren’t flesh and blood. Family is what you make of it, and it can consist of those who make life just a little more bearable for you each and every day. Well look at this now, Pa Aemon. From my once tiny family of only Jorah and Missandei, I think I’ve added quite a few more. I want each and every one of these individuals to help make this life just a little more bearable each day…_

She stole another glance at Jon who was now engaged in an one-sided argument with a particular player on the screen. Apparently, this guy was such a horrible striker, Jon was sure he could take his position if given the chance. His hair was now all over the place – evidence of the number of times he had run his fingers through it in frustration. His features were flushed with the intensity of his emotions, his entire being so tense – even as his right leg continued to bounce up and down as precious minutes ticked on – all Dany could think about was going up to him, placing a kiss on that furrowed brow and giving those shoulders the best massage possible. He was probably going to need one anyway after this game was over.

“Half time and still scoreless,” Arya groaned and threw up her hands. “Well, you can’t deny it’s been a great game so far.”

“Great game?” Jon sneered. “The fucking Stags had more shot on goals than we did!”

Gendry, who was now searching for more beer, gave a thumbs up in agreement. He seemed more relaxed than everyone else, after all his team had nothing to lose, and so far they were giving the veteran squad a run for their money. “We’re winning this shit. I’m calling it now.”

This, of course, got the Wolverine fans pouncing on him until Gendry held up his hands in surrender, but only to turn to Dany quickly.

“Let her give her predictions,” he said with a snicker. “Ms. Dany? After all you’ve seen so far, who do you think is winning this thing?”

Dany grimaced and made a face, earning laughter from the others as she pretended to cover her eyes from all the heads now turned her way. Soon enough, they were all trying to make their case on who she should pick, until she held up her hand to silence them with a mock frown of annoyance. She cleared her throat and motioned that she had come to a decision, and grabbing her chalkboard, she scribbled out quickly…

“YES!” Gendry roared in victory, and much to everyone’s surprise, leaned over to place a kiss on Dany’s cheek in gratitude. “Told ya!”

“How could you, Dany?” Arya whined while smacking the gleeful Gendry’s back playfully. “I thought you were on our side?”

Dany tried to look apologetic and gave a helpless shrug, while holding the board up to cover her blushing visage. She lowered it a little and met amused grey eyes that soon flashed with a hint of something else that made her insides quiver with a familiar warmth. Her blush darkened, and she lowered her board and gaze. Maybe she could escape to the kitchen to help Missandei with the rest of the food, but considering Grey Worm had vanished with her again…

_I am so going to tease her to death over it._

“Whooo! And we’re back on!” Arya announced just as Missandei and Grey Worm returned with more goodies for them to feast on.

However, all thoughts of eating were set aside as the next forty-five minutes would be most crucial. Even Dany, who might have been content studying their faces, couldn’t turn away from the television screen. She was unaware of how tight she gripped Jorah’s forearm at some point or giving low sounds of frustration when makeable goals were missed. As the clock ticked on, it seemed as if they might end up going to overtime. It was the 90th minute with about three minutes extra tacked on to it when the unthinkable happened.

The Storm’s End Stags scored a goal, and just like that…the championship match was over. They were the new football kings of Westeros.

“HOLY FUCKING SHIT! WE WON!!!”

There was no need to tell who had yelled that, even as he whooped and tried to hug his devastated girlfriend in joy. Everyone else seemed frozen in place – much like the majority Wolverine fans in attendance as the mustard yellow and black colors of the Stags waved proudly all around the stadium. Here was a team no one had thought would even make it this far and now they were about to lift the coveted trophy. One had to feel for the players, coaches, and fans, for their contagious feelings of joy and happy tears almost got Dany just as emotional. 

“Well, there is always next year,” Jorah – ever the diplomat – tried to appease the sullen Jon and Arya, who was currently trying to shove off Gendry with the threat to cut off his dick if he kept trying to kiss her.

Dany repeated the sentiment as she held up her board: THEY WILL COME BACK STRONGER NEXT TIME.

She hoped it would make Jon smile at least, but apparently the loss was too much to bear. He muttered something about using the restroom and without asking for directions, he let himself out of the room with purposeful strides. Dany and Missandei winced at the blunder and sincerely hoped Jorah wouldn’t have noticed. Fortunately, he seemed more interested in the post-game shenanigans especially with Gendry now standing at attention to sing the Storm’s End FC theme song. Even Arya couldn’t stay that pissed at him for long. He had a wonderful baritone.

In the restroom, however, Jon had taken off the irritating pair of glasses and was washing his face in quick jerky movements. He was a diehard Wolverine fan and though there had been team losses in the past, he had no idea why this one would hit him this hard. He wanted to smash something or simply scream, and it wasn’t just at all the missed opportunities and how ‘slow’ the players had seemed compared to the stronger, younger, and hungrier Stags. Some of the commentators had warned about the Wolverines being too overconfident, and it was that feeling of superiority that was their downfall.

Perhaps it was that loss, plus Cersei’s warnings, plus this ridiculous ruse to fool a guy who looked as if he wasn’t even buying a single thing, to seeing how possessive said guy was of Dany, and how Jon couldn’t be allowed to even look or speak to a woman he wanted more than ever –

“Fuck it,” he whispered fiercely at his reflection. “Fuck this. Fuck them. Fuck all of this!”

He was sick of playing this game, yet as he made his way back to the living room and slowed his footsteps at the sound of laughter, his heart clenched at the sight of his sister trying to explain something to a giggling Dany, while Drogon lay on his back accepting Arya’s stomach rub with glee. Gendry was in deep conversation with Jorah – though it seemed Gendry was doing all the talking, and in the background a blushing (actually blushing) Missandei was smiling fondly at Grey Worm as she patiently corrected his broken Common Tongue. He would have teased her about already being enamored with the new guy considering how strict she was when it came to him and Dany, but this was not the time.

All the same, if he made the decision to go rogue, this scene was likely to never happen again. If Jorah knew his real job, there was no guarantee he wouldn’t be on the phone complaining to Cersei, which in turn would have him out of a job and Arya taken away from him. Jorah could choose to move Dany out of Westeros again, and then –

“Why are you just standing there?” Arya asked when he was finally noticed. Rhaegal and Ghost were nipping at his heels in greeting. “Anyway, you’re just in time. We’re about to take a group picture for posterity. Come on!”

She bound to her feet and dragged her brother into the room, where they all somehow managed to position themselves around Dany – with all four dogs settled at her feet – to get the perfect portrait…or would have.

“Doesn’t look that good,” Arya complained. “We need someone to take the picture or at least set it up so we’re all in the shot.”

“I’ll do it,” Jorah offered with a smile. “Besides, I think this fits best for you young ones.” He shrugged at Dany’s pout and wave of her hand to join in, but his attention was focused on the quiet Jon, who stood behind Dany’s chair with an inscrutable expression on his visage. Was it his imagination or were Jon’s fingers actually threading through Dany’s hair gently? However, if the darkening hue on Dany’s features, or the brief moment of closing her eyes and arching ever so slightly into said touch, were any indication –

The truth really did hurt.

With the pictures taken, and as Arya and Gendry swarmed Jorah to see the results on her phone, Dany – without turning around – reached for Jon’s hand to clasp it tightly in understanding. It was brief – all too brief – but Jon returned the touch; fingers entwined for a heartbeat until they were forced to release each other.

“…the Starks of Winterfell, aren’t you?” Jorah was saying causing Jon, who was in the process of going back to his seat to stiffen as he met Arya’s brief concerned look. “It’s rare to find true northerners in the South.”

“Yes…?” Arya finally replied cautiously. “We had to move down here because of-”

“The tragic accident,” Jorah replied with an expression of sympathy. He had settled on the couch and was now nursing a wine cooler in his right hand. “I can’t imagine how devastated you must have been…the both of you.”

Jon remained silent, choosing to nibble on a cheese cracker. His body language feigned disinterest, though the clenching of his jaw was the only subtle sign of his growing agitation. What the fuck was Jorah trying to do?

“And you are now in the Royal College, Jon,” Jorah enthused. “How did you get in? By scholarship?”

“He was,” Missandei piped up. “He had one of the highest scores in the entrance exam I believe. He’s quite brilliant.”

“Really?” Jorah looked impressed. “But then again, anyone lucky enough to get into that university should consider himself a genius. So…” He leaned forward, pointedly staring at Jon who was staring back with something akin to ice in those twin grey orbs. “Why Clinical Psychology, Jon Snow? You don’t look like the type to indulge in such intricacies of what makes the human mind tick.”

“I didn’t realize there was a _type_ ,” Arya said with a derisive snort. “What? You have to look a certain way to study it?”

“I meant no such thing,” Jorah insisted with his hands raised as if in surrender. “I was merely curious as to why your brother would be interested in the subject. For Missandei, I know she did it because of Dany and wanting to help others who have gone through such traumatic experiences.” He shrugged lightly. “Forgive my inquisitiveness.”

An awkward and tension-filled silence descended on the room shattered only by the lowered volume of the television set, where the Stags were still running around the confetti-laden football field hailing their ecstatic fans. The mood, in here, was anything but at the moment.

Missandei cleared her throat and began to speak. “I think Jon chose it because-”

“Missandei,” Jorah interrupted curtly without looking away from Jon. “I have no doubt Jon has a mouth and is able to speak for himself. Perhaps you should give him an opportunity to do so, hmm?” He raised a brow and gave a light smirk. “Well? Jon? Will you not share that story with us?”

Jon’s eyes narrowed. He studied the lines of that weathered face, seeing the familiar structure of a kind, old man doomed to die in a tenement far from the comfort of his home on Bear Island. Sitting before him was the son of that man, a man he had respected and loved as a second father. Sitting before him was a son that had abandoned a father in his time of need and had not found it in his heart to seek forgiveness for whatever fall out they had in the past. Who was this son to now question him like he was a criminal of some sort? But no matter, two could play that game.

Jon swallowed the cracker he’d been chewing and dusted his hands off. As he did, he studied the faces of those who mattered most to him. Arya and Gendry looking both encouraging and concerned. Missandei looking more concerned yet hopeful he wouldn’t fuck things up, and to Dany…his beautiful silent Dany who’s spoken greeting still shook him to his core. That she had forced herself to speak despite her obvious difficulty was damn inspiring. Her eyes looked a bit too shiny, and as she captured her lower lip between her teeth, he knew she was doing her best to cheer him on without bursting into tears of frustration. No longer giving a fuck if everyone noticed, he began speaking quietly yet clear enough for his words to be understood.

“I’ve never been what you’d call a normal kid. Sure, maybe I had awesome brothers and sisters, a father who would win Daddy of the Year every damn year if possible, and a stepmother who was tolerable, but I was different. No, it wasn’t just because I was a certified bastard and would live the rest of my life not really being a Stark - but just close enough to taste the fruits of my inheritance - it was because I had a little problem only a select few would come to realize.”

Jon finally looked away from Dany to pin his gaze on Jorah, a grim smile on his visage. “I got panic attacks. Not your full blown dramatic writhing on the ground and frothing at the mouth, but silent attacks where you felt you couldn’t breathe and something heavy was sitting on your chest, and you broke into a cold sweat, your skin felt clammy, your vision went blurry, and sometimes you’d fall into a dead faint before waking up to realize all that had happened was just because you knew you were going to be scolded for getting a low grade on a test. You see, I wasn’t able to handle stress all that well. I usually have two extremes. Either I lash out in anger and get into fights that get myself or others hospitalized, or I…sink into that darkness which can be quite peaceful.

“As I got older, I figured I was getting a better hang of taking care of myself. The attacks weren’t happening as often, and I could live as normal a life as possible. Unfortunately, Life has a way of kicking your ass, and it did that by choosing to take away my family in one swell swoop. When I heard the news, you can imagine what I went through…won’t even bother explaining it again, and I had no idea Arya was still alive…barely hanging on. But you see this annoying little gnat here…”

He reached out to ruffle Arya’s hair, smiling at her pout despite the tears forming in her eyes.

“…she taught me what it meant to be a fighter. She taught me never to give up. If she could wrest herself away from the clutches of Death, then I could get over my fucking weaknesses and strive to be better. I swore I’d do everything in my power to give her a life she deserved, even if I had to sell my soul to the Devil to achieve it.”

He took off the glasses and flung it the side, a wry smile on his lips now. “I know you don’t buy the schtick, and I confess it would have been a great ruse if I could pull it off, but I can’t. I don’t know the first thing about Clinical Psychology, except to diagnose myself, and the most I can rattle off is bullshit I hear from all these T.V. shows I watch. Missandei’s the genius here, and Dany’s lucky she’s got someone like her. As for me, I take care of others in a different way. I can be a therapeutic psychologist of sorts if you want to consider me as such, only my brand of healing comes in making women feel like they’re worth something even if its for a few hours.”

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. “I know my profession is frowned upon by elitists like yourself. I know I’m considered a whore and not worthy of being around a woman like Dany, but…”

His smile lost its cynical edge as he looked to Dany again, where his heart lurched at the open expression of admiration and dare he hope…no, that was almost too ridiculous to imagine at this stage. All the same, his cheeks burned with a heat that crept from the tip of his toes, and he had to gather himself to finish up quickly.

“I consider myself the luckiest bastard in the world to be summoned by her often. And no matter what happens to me from here on out, every hour spent with her is one I’ll never forget or regret for as long as I live.”

He reconsidered adding something else but shrugged and finished with a quiet. “That’s all I wanted to say.”

As it to applaud his master’s speech, Ghost lay his head upon Jon’s lap, those blood eyes blinking with warmth and understanding. Jon rubbed his head in gratitude, though the embarrassment of rambling on for so long had him wishing the floor would open to swallow him whole. Damn, he hated giving speeches.

And why the fuck wasn’t anyone saying anything?!

“I-I am th-th-the luc-lucky one,” came the eventual quiet words that had Jon looking up with widened eyes and possibly his whole heart in his gaze. Dany was clutching her board tightly, the effort to concentrate on her words making his vision blur with immeasurable appreciation. “Yo-you ma-ma-made this a-a-all ha-happen.”

She waved her hand around the room and gave a shy smile. There was more she wanted to say, but she had exhausted as much as she could utter for now. Looking to Missandei for help, she began to sign quickly, and her friend recited it for the others benefit.

“She says she knows what she did was out of character, but she had only wanted to see what life was like with a man who wasn’t you, Jorah. She did not forget all your warnings and was particular of the person she chose. Perhaps Jon replacing her initial pick was a blessing in disguise, because she has also come to learn so much from him. And thanks to him, she’s got a new baby sister to dote on, Arya…”

Who, at the mention of her name, blushed and buried her heated face against Gendry’s shoulder.

“A new fur baby to add to her children, Ghost, and Gendry and even Grey Worm here. I can have friends to spend time with now, and no longer have to be afraid of my own shadow. You, Jorah, and my dear sister, Missandei paved that way for me, and I appreciate that more than you’ll ever know. I’m sorry, we had to lie to you, but we were afraid you’d take it the wrong way if we told you the truth. So, please find it in your heart to forgive us.”

Jon might have stated that there was really nothing to forgive, but the ball wasn’t in his court. All eyes were now trained on Jorah, who was apparently needed to give the final blessing on this sudden partnership of the most unlikely group of misfits. He watched the older man’s jaw tighten, and Jon could almost hear the cogs of conflicted emotions swirling through his mind.

After what seemed like an eternity, Jorah expelled a soft breath of air and eyed the near empty cooler. “Who needs a drink? I could definitely use one.”

“Best announcement I’ve heard all evening,” Gendry agreed as he bound to his feet, only to pause as he seemed to hear something. “What’s that cracking sound? Sounds like…”

“Fireworks!” Arya squealed in delight.

Before long, everyone was out on the terrace, heads upturned to the darkened heavens now lit in a myriad of spectacular colors. No one seemed to really mind how chilly it was, though Jon added his scarf around Dany’s neck to keep her as warm as possible. He sat beside her, content to watch the awe on her features as the fireworks bathed her skin and eyes in hues of red, gold, blue, and green. Neither was aware they were even holding hands, and it wasn’t until Ghost nudged his knee, did he tear his gaze away to notice they were, sans dogs, alone on the terrace. He’d later learn Arya had shoo’d everyone, including a reluctant Jorah, indoors to give them the privacy they needed.

With Drogon nudging her as well, Dany was also forced to realize their current situation. A quick glance over her shoulder showed the familiar silhouettes of their companions now in the living room. If she wasn’t mistaken, it looked as if Jorah was sitting at the piano, and before long, the first notes of _The Roadside Rose_ could be heard.

“They seem to be having fun,” Jon remarked with a dry chuckle.

Dany focused her attention on him, her hand moving up to signal her apology for his team losing. Jon shrugged and gave a wan smile.

“There’s always next year, right?”

She nodded fervently, pointing to the Wolverine logo on her shirt as if to say she’d be glad to support them again next year. However, her gaze softened when he lowered his head, to the arm rest of her chair, and gave a barely audible sigh that seemed to be a combination of weariness and despair. Before she could stop herself, she sank her fingers through his hair to massage his scalp tenderly, an act that caused him to close his eyes and groan in pleasure.

“Don’t think you’re helping the cause much by doing that,” Jon murmured thickly. “I swear if I could take you upstairs this very minute, I would, but then again wouldn’t want Jorah finding some excuse to take back his semi-truce.”

Dany stopped kneading to run her fingers down his beard before cupping his chin to force him to look up. There was a stern expression on her visage as she shook her head.

“N-no ap-apology,” she said firmly. “St-stop.”

She grabbed her chalkboard to write quickly, which seemed to be a mini-essay, holding it up when done for him to read.

I SHOULD BE THE ONE APOLOGIZING. I TRIED TO MAKE YOU SOMETHING YOU’RE NOT. WHAT YOU DID AND SAID IN THERE MIGHT BE STUPID TO SOME, BUT I THOUGHT IT WAS BRAVE AND WONDERFUL.

Jon felt his entire being flush with heat, and when he thought he could respond, she silenced him with a shake of head, now writing again.

I MEANT WHAT I SAID IN THERE TOO. I KNOW YOU’RE IN A DIFFICULT POSITION, AND YOU ARE DOING THIS JOB FOR ARYA AND WINTERFELL. I’M NOT ASKING YOU TO FALL IN LOVE WITH ME OR SETTLE DOWN. I REALLY AM HAPPY JUST BEING FRIENDS.

_Oh, Dany,_ he thought with an inner groan of anguish. _I’m beginning to think you’re just a little bit too late with that last bit, but-_

SO PLEASE. DON’T FEEL PRESSURED WHEN IT COMES TO ME. JUST KNOWING I CAN CONTINUE SOME KIND OF RELATIONSHIP WITH YOU IS FINE, BUT IF YOU DO HAVE TO STOP SEEING ME BECAUSE OF ANY PROBLEMS, PLEASE LET ME KNOW AHEAD OF TIME, OK? DON’T JUST VANISH WITHOUT SAYING GOODBYE.

His breath hitched and that constricting-tightening sensation in his chest was now almost unbearable. He squeezed his eyes shut as he recalled Cersei’s warnings, which for some reason now seemed so very inconsequential and insignificant in the moment.

Another sudden loud crack of fireworks, had them looking up at the same time. The sky was awash in golden sparkles that trailed off into nothingness, just as Jon reached for her hand to squeeze it gently in response to her written request.

When she lowered her gaze to him again, it was now wet with the tears she’d been trying to hold back all evening. She would sigh his name as he slowly rest his forehead against hers, lifting a finger from her other hand to wipe the silent tear trailing his cheek.

In a ragged whisper, he begged her to say his name again, which she did…over and over without a stutter as their warm breaths mingled as one. And when he finally captured the lone sweet syllable of his name between his lips and on his tongue, Jon knew he would have to make the toughest decision of his life yet.

 

* * *

 

 …a decision that would start with a text message sent to Dany at 5:57 a.m. the very next day:

  **Dare I be so bold, my lady, but I’d very much love to take you out on a date.**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	11. Beyond the Gates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Between studying for upcoming exams next week, work, and all around Life being a PITA, it's a miracle this was written *lol*  
> So to all of you who have been dreaming about the update, here it is in the flesh...so to speak. Haha! XD
> 
> Enjoy! And as always your feedback and encouragement is very much appreciated. 
> 
> P.S: For those who would like to follow my meager postings on Tumblr, you can find me @kiyasama *waves and fades away*

_Thanks as always to the wonderful[Anitah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anitah/profile) for the moodboard! _

 

* * *

 

 

The urgent need to empty her bladder forced her from the catacombs of much-needed sleep. After a late night, just a little too much ‘sampling’ of the various alcoholic beverages on hand, and the emotional highpoint of those precious moments spent in the company of a certain young man, Dany would have loved nothing more than to pass out for the next few hours uninterrupted.

With a groan, she swung her legs off the bed and rose gingerly to her feet. Grabbing her phone from the nightstand (from force of habit), she shuffled toward the bathroom while making sure she was as close to the wall with its protective handrail. Unlike the heavy steel one in the bathroom, this was made of fine weirwood polished to a rich mahogany to match the décor of the bedroom. Ser Davos had seen to its design, and she was never more grateful for the man’s foresight just as her ‘problems’ began.

The slightly ajar door, and quiet, was a sign that her children had already left for their potty break – not that she left the door completely closed anyway. They were able to leave the room and return at will but were trained not to leave the door too wide open to protect their mother’s privacy.

She reached the toilet at the mental count of twenty, and silently congratulated herself on not having to hold onto the rail to get there. Lifting the oversized pink tee-shirt, she sank onto the seat and closed her eyes – perhaps to catch a little nap while at it. However, a reminder of the device in her hand forced her lashes open again. She stared fondly at the lock screen – one of the few selfies taken with Jon – as an all too familiar warmth caused her toes to curl in pleasure upon the bath rug. The warmth would become a flush of heat when she finally noticed the new message, waiting patiently, from him.

_And sent so early too._ Considering how late they had left…didn’t he get any sleep? Not that she had fallen asleep quickly either.

Saying goodbye had not been easy, for the gods knew she and Jon were more than happy to remain outdoors in their private cocoon for the rest of the night. She was sure her lips still tingled from his kiss; a kiss that had started out somewhat chaste until memories of their intimate weekend had them gasping for air and needing to hold back lest they give everyone else an explicit performance on the terrace. Besides, there was still Jorah to consider. Dany doubted he was completely on board with Jon, no matter how affable he appeared afterwards.

But she was thinking too much, and as she swiped the message open, it would take her several dumbfounded seconds to comprehend exactly what she was reading.

**Dare I be so bold, my lady, but I’d very much love to take you out on a date.**

_Huh? Wait…what? **What?!**_

There was no follow up message to that, no matter how many times she tried scrolling down to see if he had written anything else. He had sent it almost two hours ago, and despite the rapid increase of her pulse or that roaring sound of blood rushing to her ears, or the quickened pound of a heartbeat all equating to the giddy enthusiasm of a teenager being asked out on a date by her crush…

“Eeeeeeek!”

She gave up the pretense of keeping her cool, letting out the girlish squeal of delight as she pounded her feet and raised her trembling hands to her heated cheeks…which almost had the phone clattering to the floor with her exuberance.

_A date!_ She was being asked to go on a _date_! Her first ever! Even if she was an ‘old maid’ compared to some others, but this was a _date_ for the gods sake! Dinner, flowers, being courted and wooed like all those gorgeous women in the movies and nov–

_Hold on there, Daenerys Stormborn,_ came the sudden stern voice that brought her dizzying thoughts to a screeching halt. Oddly enough, that voice sounded just like Missandei. _Let’s examine this carefully, shall we?_

She stopped dancing on the toilet seat long enough to re-read the message again, this time mouthing it out, and then slowly whispering the words beneath her breath.

**Dare I be so bold, my lady, but I’d very much love to take you out on a date.**

It seemed like a simple enough request, but there was a bit of a problem here, wasn’t there? That word – ‘date’. Why would he use that term when they were only supposed to maintain a _friendly_ rapport? Did ‘friends’ go out on ‘dates’? She might be naïve when it came to relationships, but she had watched and read enough to know that using such a term meant you were seeking something _more_ than just a mere outing. A date involved more than just holding hands and watching the world go by. There was the promise of _something else_ , and considering Jon’s current predicament, she had to wonder if he actually meant changing the dynamics of their relationship or if he had just used the word loosely.

So consumed with her dissertation on what his text could mean, she would remain in bewildered contemplation until Missandei arrived looking more energetic than anyone had the right to be after last night. Looking lovely in a pair of jeans and an off-shoulder Bohemian blouse, her best friend breezed into the bedroom with her three children in tow, each showering her with their various forms of greeting.

“You’re not dressed,” Missandei cried out when she could finally detangle herself from the dogs still clamoring around their mother on the bed.

Dany gave an apologetic smile, wincing a little as Missandei pulled open the drapes to let in some sunlight. Patting the space next to her, Missandei obliged the silent request and plunked herself on the covers, not before kicking off her sandals. It was almost winter and yet she dressed as if she was about to head out to a beach somewhere. Dany could almost envy how carefree her friend could be…or was that glow around her face thanks to a certain stoic young man from Meereen? Not that Missandei had latched onto Grey Worm all night. If anything, their farewells had been rather polite and noncommittal.

“What’s up?” Missandei asked as she reached out to brush away the loose strands of silver hair still framing Dany’s face from her loose ponytail. “Why are you clutching your phone like that?” Her brows creased with concern. “Is everything okay?”

Not trusting herself to speak, Dany shoved the device into Missandei’s hand and held her breath while worrying her lower lip. She studied her friend’s expression as she mouthed the words to herself, and eventually Missandei would look up with a raised brow.

“This is from Jon Snow?”

Dany nodded and now began to twist her fingers into knots of nervousness. She knew Missandei had been taken by Jon’s confession and blunt honesty, as evidenced by the less doubtful looks thrown his way the rest of the evening. However, just like Jorah, Dany knew her friend was still going to be wary of anyone hoping to take advantage of her.

“He’s asking you out on a date.”

Dany rolled her eyes. “I-I ca-can see th-that.” She waved her hand toward the phone, and when Missandei still didn’t get it, she pointed to the last word and raised her hands as if asking ‘what now?’

“Aaaah. I see. Did you two talk about getting more…involved?” Missandei asked warily. “I mean…if he’s asking you out on a date then-”

_We only agreed to be friends,_ Dany signed quickly. _I was excited at first, but then I wondered if friends go on dates. Do you think he wants to take it to the next…stage? That he really wants us to be more than friends?_ She frowned in consternation. _I mean…do escorts even have serious girlfriends or wives on the side?_

“Believe it or not, some of them do,” Missandei replied with a chuckle. “I looked it up and some even have _children_.”

Dany’s eyes widened at this. This was interesting news. _And they still sleep around with other women? How can their family stand it?_

Missandei shrugged. “I guess they must be really secure in their relationship to know their man will always return to them at the end of the day. Me? I’d be crazy jealous if I knew he was sticking his dick into every other female, but I guess if that’s the way they make their livelihood and keep food on the table…who are we to judge, right?” She waved her hand in dismissal. “So back to your little predicament…did you answer him? Or agree?”

_I haven’t responded yet._

“Geez, I can see that now,” Missandei winced as she sat up and tucked her legs beneath her. “It’s been almost four hours, and the poor guy is probably wondering if you’re just ignoring him. I’m surprised he hasn’t sent another message asking if you got the first one. He seems to be one of those guys who might pester you to death over something like this.”

Dany playfully slapped her friend’s forearm with a chuckle. “No…no…Jon’s di-different.”

“No kidding,” Missandei replied with a small smile. “So? Let’s respond to him, eh?” She waggled her brows suggestively. “What should we say? Because I’m guessing if I give this back to you, you’ll keep staring at it and won’t do a thing.”

Dany turned a bright red in embarrassment, knowing damn well her friend was right. She shrugged and left it up to her.

“All right, how about we ask him exactly what the date entails, hmm? At least if he clears it up, then we know where we stand.”

At Dany’s nod, and with her chin now resting on Missandei’s shoulder, she watched the letters being typed into the device.

**Hi, Jon. I am so thrilled –**

“Not thrilled?” Missandei asked when Dany waved her hand and mimicked sounding too desperate or eager – which she truly was – but Jon didn’t have to know that. She motioned for Missandei to backspace and try something else.

“Okay, how about…”

**Hello, Jon. Thanks so much for your lovely invitation. I would love to join you, but I’m curious to know exactly what our ‘date’ entails. I was under the impression we were to remain just friends.**

“That work?”

Dany pursed her lips and reread the message. Deciding wasting anymore time pondering over word choices would drive her mad, she closed her eyes and gave the go-ahead. She all but dived back amongst the pillows and used one to cover her face in embarrassment, ignoring Missandei’s laugh and reassurances that he wasn’t going to be upset with –

“Oh! He’s sent a reply already! Told you the guy was probably on standby pining for a response.”

Dany, who had already sat up alacrity, looked over Missandei’s shoulder as they read together.

**Thank the gods you replied. I wasn’t sure if I upset you with that, but yes, I would love to take you out for an entire day if that’s okay.**

The women looked at each other – Dany’s eyes widened in surprise and perhaps a hint of panic, while Missandei looked more intrigued.

_An entire day?!_

“What the hell would you two do for an entire day?”

Dany had more pressing matters to be worried about. _I’ll have to go outside the gates,_ she signed with growing agitation. _I haven’t been anywhere since we arrived here. I wouldn’t know what to-_

“Relax, my dearest,” Missandei crooned softly as she reached out to grip the trembling hands before her. “Deep breaths, Dany. It will be okay. You’ve already made huge steps just getting out to the terrace and backyard, and it’s the same thing…well except with more people around. Besides, Jorah said the other day you wanted to follow him to Stannis Baratheon’s office, and that’s in Dragonstone.”

“Th-that’s di-different,” Dany replied with a pout which earned her laughter.

“Different? Oh, I see. If it’s with Jorah and going in a car and not having to see so many people on the way there, you’re fine. But when it’s with a hot guy who is likely to want to take you to public places…”

Dany nodded fervently, released her hands from Missandei’s to slap them over her face. A low moan of suffering wracked through her frame, and feeling her chest tighten with empathy, Missandei brushed away tendrils of silver from her friend’s face.

“How about we do this,” she suggested quietly. “You and I spend an entire day together…outside these gates…as a dry run, hmm?”

Dany peeked out from between her fingers, a brow raised in skepticism.

“Yes, yes, I remember the last time we tried it in Braavos and how that didn’t turn out so well.”

It was a disaster to put it mildly, for Dany had only managed to get as far as the next manse on that narrow street before giving up. Missandei was sure she had never seen anyone shake that badly in her life, all because of a group of school kids suddenly running up the street – who were clearly intrigued at the sight of the ‘weird’ woman wearing such odd clothing in a wheelchair. Coupled with the close proximity of loud cars and motorbikes buzzing right by…all of that was too much at once. The poor woman could barely function for an hour after that and had locked herself in her room for the next week.

“That was then, and this is now,” Missandei reminded her with a warm smile as she peeled away Dany’s fingers from her face. She tipped her chin, so she could stare into those too-shiny violet eyes ever so unique and breathtaking. “You have come so far from then, Dany. Look at you wanting to go to the lake whenever possible, letting the drapes open, allowing new people into your life…and that’s a far cry from that person we knew in Braavos. Westeros has changed you, and it’s all for the better.”

She leaned close to place a soft kiss on Dany’s forehead, pulling back with tears in her eyes as well. “You are so much stronger than you give yourself credit for, and I want you to realize that as well. So, let’s do this…together. Okay? I’ll be with you ever step of the way, and if you even show signs of panic, we’ll take a breather and find somewhere quiet for you to regroup. Does that sound good?”

Dany wrapped her fingers around Missandei’s and took a deep breath.

She could do this. She _knew_ she could. She’d just have to believe in herself and take all she had learned in these past few weeks and realize that the world out there wasn’t really her enemy. Missandei was right. She had come a long way, and she wasn’t going to back down now especially with the promise of spending more time with Jon. The sudden thought of disappointing him with those persistent voices of doubts and fears still nagging within her, was not an option. After sharing his own personal shortcomings with all of them last night, it was the least she could do to prove that they could both overcome those, sometimes crippling, limitations.

“I-I’ll do it,” she finally said with a firm nod and a tremulous smile. “Le-let’s do it.”

 

* * *

 

“Going out? What do you mean going out?” Jorah asked, the next day, as he wiped his face with a towel. He had just returned from his morning jog, and Missandei had to admire how fit he looked for a man his age. She briefly entertained the idea of introducing him to one of those dating sites for older singles, but she doubted he’d appreciate that. According to Dany, he was still not over the loss of his first wife; a woman he had given to the world to but would eventually dump him for someone else. Ouch. Shrugging away those random thoughts, she smiled politely at him.

“Just down to the park about a mile from here,” she explained. “Dany wanted to see what her neighborhood looked like.”

“And she actually said this?” Jorah asked with skepticism. He padded toward the fridge, helping himself to a bottle of water which he guzzled from thirstily, all the while studying the Naathi with an inscrutable expression.

“She’s waiting in the foyer if you want to ask her yourself,” Missandei stated with as much civility as she could manage despite the rising irritation at Jorah’s antics.

As much as she appreciated the man’s influence on their lives – after all it was all thanks to him she was able to get into The Royal College anyway – there were times when she had to wonder if his motives were purely altruistic. It wasn’t the first time they had gotten into such subtly barbed arguments over Dany’s welfare. Jorah could be an overprotective jerk – a term she would never say to Dany’s face seeing as she relied on him – and there had been times Missandei had to put her foot down lest he smother her with his attentions. Most of them unwarranted and unnecessary.

She knew his feelings for her went beyond mere friendship, as evidenced with the either longing or lusting looks thrown Dany’s way, now more pronounced since his return. She was also sure Dany was aware of it, but Missandei knew it would be best for her friend to figure out how to deal with him. It wasn’t up to her to cut those cords that bound them, and she could only hope Dany would find the strength to do so when the time came.

Jorah made a low sound of exasperation. “As much progress as she’s made, and believe me, I know how much of a miracle it all is, are you really willing to put her through all this again? Remember what happened last time-”

“I more than remember what happened last time,” Missandei interrupted with a smile barely hanging on to her visage. “We’ve talked about it, and she insisted on doing this. If we don’t try, how are we ever going to know the extent of her rehabilitation? Confining her within the mansion isn’t helping anyone.”

“Yes, just as I’m sure you were able to talk her into hiring escorts to keep her company, hmm?”

Missandei let out a breath. “You’re not going to let that go, are you?”

“Not sure I will,” Jorah replied with a grim smile. He wrapped the towel around his neck and shrugged. “But then again, you are her shadow, and I’m placing all responsibility on you should anything go wrong. Just a hint of a panic attack or she regresses, and we’re heading right back to Braavos, with or without you.”

Missandei’s eyes narrowed at the threat. A slew of insults whirled within her mind, but she held her tongue as they walked out of the kitchen to meet a waiting Dany. Surrounded by her dogs, she looked sweet in a pink sweater, black pants, and matching sneakers. Her large floppy straw hat was perched on her head, and her hair done in a thick single braid that fell across her chest. She was in the process of explaining to her dogs, in stuttering words, that their mommy had to leave them for a while – something they might have sensed because they were all whining with varying degrees of misery on their furry faces – when Jorah interrupted with his exuberant greeting.

“You look lovely this morning, Dany. Going somewhere?”

Dany lifted her head and flashed a brief look at her friend as if wondering if she hadn’t spoken to Jorah already. At Missandei’s roll of her eyes, Dany nodded and gave a polite smile.

“See th-the nei-nei-neighborho-hood,” she said carefully. “Not f-far from he-here.”

Jorah stooped to his haunches beside her chair and reached for her hand. His features were tight with concern and some other emotion she couldn’t discern.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked quietly. “You remember how overwhelming it was last time. I wouldn’t want you to go through the same problem again.”

“I-I’ll be fine,” she replied with a gentle tap on his cheek. She withdrew her other hand from his grip and placed both on her lap. “It’s just for a li-little while.” She looked up to Missandei and gave a more genuine smile. “We should get going be-before it gets to-too hot.”

“You aren’t taking the dogs with you?” Jorah queried as he realized he was being dismissed.

“Too much hassle at the moment,” Missandei replied. “I can’t deal with them and Dany at the same time. As obedient as they are, once they are out there without leashes, they are bound to want to explore everything and anything at once. Maybe next time when Dany is more comfortable.”

She would grab their jackets and help Dany into hers, effectively tuning off Jorah lest he begin trying to convince Dany that it was best she remain indoors. She couldn’t push her friend outside fast enough, though Dany tried not to look back as her babies mewled or barked in sorrow at being left behind.

_I feel terrible,_ she signed as she put on a pair of sunglasses. _I wish I could take them with me._

“I know, sweetheart,” Missandei replied as they walked past the fountain and down the graveled driveway. “But we should be back in a couple of hours and you can make it up to them, hmm?”

Dany nodded, though she was powerless to take another quick look over her shoulder. Jorah was still standing there watching them from the front door, an indecipherable expression on his visage, though Dany sensed there was some anger simmering there. She couldn’t understand why he’d be so upset about it anyway. She was sure he would be more encouraging making his attitude all the more bewildering. She slid her glance to her children, who looked restless as if eager to chase after her, though they had been warned to remain seated. Turning away with an effort, she took a deep breath, feeling her palms getting sweaty, her pulse quickening, and her heart a snare drum in her chest as the looming gilded gates with the crest of the Targaryen family now loomed before them.

She began counting softly beneath her breath as Missandei stopped to open them, and she took the opportunity to survey the surroundings before her. In the past week, she and Missandei had explored the estate, but never attempted to get this close to the entrance. From here, it was easy to see the road, though with the thick sentinels and oak trees forming a natural barrier, one could hardly make out the neighbor’s houses unless you actually stepped beyond the gates. It was that shielded a community, and the sudden passing of a lone white car was just about as much noise as one could get around here.

“Here we go,” Missandei announced as she jogged back to begin pushing Dany through the now parted gates. “Ready to see the big wide world out there, Miss Stormborn?”

Dany exhaled slowly and clasped her hands until her fingernails dug grooves into her flesh. She had to remember she wasn’t wearing that silly mask anyone, and the only weird looks she was bound to get was because of her wheelchair…she hoped.

“Re-ready,” she finally replied with a brief nod. “Le-let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

 

They squared off like two gunslingers ready for a shootout; one clad in an old pair of gray sweatpants and a wrinkled Wolverine tee-shirt and the other a large, white furry beast on its hind legs. The human was prepared with his weapons; large brush in hand, clear plastic covering for the floor, a trash bag, and a mask to cover his nose and mouth. The beast merely whined and then cocked its large head as if wondering when the torture would begin.

“You know the drill, Ghost,” the human warned, though his voice sounded muffled behind the mask. “We’re not going to fight over this, all right? I literally slept in your goddamn hair last night. I thought blowing your coat doesn’t start until next month.”

Ghost barked once as if to say he wasn’t in control of what his fur or hair chose to do, but as he was willing to get a good tummy rub from all of this, he proceeded to get things started by flopping onto his back and kicking up his legs, much to his master’s dismay.

“I start with your back, you giant monster,” Jon protested as he fell to his knees and attempted to turn the dog over. Pity Ghost assumed it was roughhousing time, and it would end up with both nearly rolling around the ground until the banging of the front door announced the new arrival.

“Geez! What are you two doing?” Arya asked as she shrugged out of her coat and tossed it onto the couch, which would piss off Jon if she didn’t hang it up soon, but whatever.

“Thank the gods you’re here,” Jon gasped while attempting to shove Ghost’s paw off his face. “I need to brush him down. Could you hold him?”

Giggling at how dishelved her brother looked, Arya whistled and happily took over ‘distraction’ duties so Jon could complete his task. For the next thirty minutes, they somehow managed to get the malamute to behave himself long enough for Jon to drag the bristles through the thick fur. By the time he was through, the trash bag was nearly full of the white hair and both wondered if they could sell it for someone to make a coat or something out of it.

At least Arya did.

“Doubt they make malamute sweaters, Needle,” Jon replied wryly as he staggered to his feet and winced at the ache in his lower back. Seven hells! Next time he was having a professional do this.

“What are you doing here anyway? I thought you would still be stuck spending the night with the boyfriend.”

“Pfft. His fridge is empty,” Arya pouted. “And I haven’t had breakfast.”

“What am I? A fucking rest stop?”

Arya grinned and placed a quick kiss on his cheek, which still had tufts of Ghost’s fur attached to its beard. She brushed them away absently and leaned back to study him with narrowed eyes.

“Usually you’d start up a lecture about learning how to cook properly, but you’ve been in a good mood lately, and I know it’s not because you finally dragged your butt to see Maester Cressen yesterday. So what gives? What’s gotten you to…” She paused and then broke into a slow grin. “Heeey, this all wouldn’t be because of a certain Targaryen, would it? Was she the one who finally talked you into seeing Cressen? Huh? Huh?!”

His dark flush would tell the story, and she clapped her hands as he muttered something about ‘minding her damn business’ before escaping to discard the cleaning materials. Ghost, now happily digging into his mid-morning meal as a reward for tolerating the ‘shedding’ process, was in no hurry to interrupt the siblings at this time.

“Coooome on, spill!” Arya pestered as she danced around her older brother like the little pest she could be. “What happened besides you two looking so fucking guilty of being naughty on the porch? Are you going to see her again? Huh?”

For some time Jon refused to answer, choosing to stall his response by cleaning out the hairs from the brush a little too attentively. He would turn away when she kept on nagging, trying hard to prevent the smile that threatened to consume him at the memory of Dany’s response to his request.

**I look forward to it. Can’t wait to see you again.**

_Same here,_ he thought as his heart skipped a beat in anticipation.

He had set the date for next weekend, when he was off again, and to be honest, getting through his current jobs was made more tolerable with the knowledge of getting to be with her again soon. It was her ‘yes’ to his proposal that was the final push to him heading off to Cressen’s office yesterday morning – an appointment he had planned to reschedule should Dany refuse (at least he was planning on using that as an excuse, no matter how flimsy it was). Sure there was Cersei’s threat to consider, but thoughts of Dany took precedence, and if it meant keeping the powers that be happy just to be with her, then so be it. He would play his role for the _Night’s Watch_ and hope that in due time he could find a quick solution to getting out of his predicament with as little damage as possible.

It might end up with him forfeiting Winterfell, a forlorn thought that left a knot of guilt and despair within. However, if it meant sacrificing his childhood home for his precious sister’s freedom and to continue being in the company of the most amazing woman he’d ever met…he’d have to prepare to cut his losses. The Winterfell they had once known was no more, and all that was left was the memories of a life and family he’d never forget. He could only hope that his father would understand his need to give up that particular fight and embrace his decision to seek a new and better life for himself without the ghosts of the past always lingering in the periphery.

Jon shook his head, a wry smile forming on his lips. It was almost impossible to believe he was thinking in this way. The old Jon would have been too hellbent on achieving his impossible goals – a single-minded determination to win at all costs, so who was this stranger daring to think of ‘moving on’ and ‘seeking a better life’? Who was this man finally deciding to do something for _himself_ instead of being tied to a cumbersome _duty_? Where was that anvil of pessimism he latched onto as a means for survival? Why did it all now seem as if there was an actual light at the end of the tunnel, and that light had been exposed by a woman who, ironically, had been living in the dark for most of her life?

He wasn’t naïve enough to believe that they would eventually run off into the sunset, singing ballads, and leaving heart emojis wherever they went. However, there was no law that stated he couldn’t still pursue her affections and attentions in whatever way he could. Besides, there was no rule – at the Watch - that said he couldn’t have a girlfriend on the side. There were quite a few escorts who managed to juggle those kinds of relationships, and desperate for guidance, Jon found himself calling a couple of them to find out how they were able to maintain their sanity and not feel so guilty while working.

“It’s only a job, man,” Jalabhar Xho, a dashing dark-skinned escort just hovering outside the top five in the rankings, had replied with amusement. They had shared a couple of beers together, and Jon genuinely enjoyed being in the man’s company. He had the best stories…second to Tormund.

“To me, they’re all nothing but walking cash and gilded pussies…some crusty, but hey, I ain’t complaining,” Jalabhar said with hearty laughter. “At the end of the day, I go back to my wife and kids who show me what true love is all about. It’s tough the first few times, won’t lie, but when you get into a rhythm and you have a woman who truly understands what you have to do, it gets easier.”

All the same, Jalabhar confessed that he planned to quit as soon as his daughters were old enough to understand that Daddy wasn’t actually a traveling salesman after all.

“Yes, you will feel like shit,” Cletus Yronwood admitted.  He was in the top ten, a tall good-looking specimen from Dorne, though his lazy-eye could be distracting sometimes. He had a girlfriend currently pregnant with their first child. “There are days when you just want to kill yourself while listening to yet another client drone on and on about their issues, but it helps when you know you’ve got someone waiting for you at the end of the job. I think it was the loneliness that made it worse, before I met Mary that is to say. Of course, having a woman who _understands_ and can bear with it helps. They’re the keepers, those ones. So why are you asking all of a sudden, Snow? Finally thinking of settling down, eh?”

Settling down wasn’t exactly the term he had in mind, not that the thought wasn’t continuing to take root especially after his hour-long session with Cressen. Jon had assumed walking into that office, tolerating that rather comfy couch, and obediently answering questions would be enough to satisfy everyone.

However, with one simple query of ‘how are you, Jon?’, his mouth had run off like it couldn’t wait to give up all the cooped-up secrets burning within him. He found himself rattling off about meeting Dany and his feelings for her, not mentioning her name of course. He blabbed about his guilt at wanting to give up Winterfell – knowing it was a battle he could never win – and wanting to suddenly ‘grow up’ and start a new phase in his life with the women he treasured most. By the time he was through, an hour had gone by that fast, Jon felt ten times lighter, and Cressen hadn’t even given him one piece of advice or interrupted his rambling.

Maybe Cersei did have a point after all. Therapy _could_ be a good thing.

“I swear to the old gods, Jon Snow, if you don’t start talking…!”

“Ow! Seven hells, Arya! You have no idea how strong you are, do you? That punch nearly took off my arm,” he complained as he rubbed said arm his sister had ‘tapped’ to drag him to the present. Scowling at her, he made his way into his bedroom while peeling off his shirt. He needed to take a shower.

“Yeah, but you aren’t saying anything-”

“Maybe because there isn’t anything to say,” Jon replied as he tugged down the sweatpants only to turn around with a raised brow. “You intend to watch me take a shower too? Maybe you can scrub my back while you’re at it.”

Arya huffed, but obediently hovered around the doorway with arms folded across her chest. She had seen her brother naked before, so there was nothing to be embarrassed about, not that he cared either way. He had a great body and wasn’t ashamed of showing it off.

“You just seem at peace about something,” she grumbled. “And there’s Dany being all weird too…”

Jon, who had darted into the bathroom, stuck his head out at that little nugget of information. “What do you mean being all weird? Did you talk to her? Did you see her?”

Arya smirked. “Oh, so now you want to know, huh? Well, I’m not saying anything. Enjoy your shower!”

“Needle!”

But she was gone, leaving Jon frustrated and impatient to know just what she meant by her cryptic statements. In less than twenty minutes, he was out of the shower, hopping into a pair of jeans and almost racing into the kitchen to find his sister warming some leftovers with a smug smile on her face.

Jon either still flushed from his bath or from acting like a lovesick idiot, tried to act as nonchalant as possible. He would (im)patiently wait for the food to be warmed to her settings, piled onto her plate – and she took her time with this – ransacked the fridge for something to drink, before sitting at the kitchen counter with a low sigh of satisfaction –

“For fuck’s sake, Needle!” he finally exploded.

“All right already!” She yelled back while holding her fork up as if warding off a demonic presence. “If you must know, I met her at the park the other day with Missandei.” She stabbed her spaghetti and began to roll it around the utensil. “She looked pretty in pink.” She slurped on the pasta with delight. “We even took a couple of pictures,” she added with the food still in her mouth, while digging into the pocket of her jeans to whip out her phone. She pulled up the images for her brother, who studied them like one deprived of such luxuries.

There were a couple of selfies with the three women grinning at the camera, though his entire focus was on the woman in the middle clutching the edges of her hat as she flashed her brilliant white teeth.

“It wasn’t planned or anything,” Arya was saying as Jon swiped to the next picture – another selfie, but this time with only Arya and Dany in the shot. The grin was less wide, but Dany’s face was still aglow with pleasure; a sight that made his insides turn to molasses as he sank onto the stool beside his sister. Ah, to see such a smile trained on him again-

“I was on my way to Bedford’s Pharmacy and there they were…feeding ducks on the lake, well Missandei was and Dany was sketching. Gosh, she’s so talented. But I was so happy to see her out and about, you know? She was enjoying herself, and everyone was so nice to her, and why wouldn’t they? I mean she’s like fucking… _glowing_ you know? Can’t take your eyes off her even if you wanted to. Anyway, there was a young couple there, and the husband was in a wheelchair too, and we all started talking – turns out he was in the war and lost his legs, poor guy, but they were so cool, and they invited us for a dinner being hosted for war vets at Tyrell Hall next Saturday, but Dany said she couldn’t go because she already had plans or something…and you should have seen her face when she said that. I _knew_ something was up, and I doubt it’s spending time with that geezer, Jorah. Sooooooooo…”

She poked her brother’s cheek with a finger and pinned an intense stare at him. “Are you two getting serious or what?”

Jon took a shuddering breath and returned the phone. He met the unrelenting grey eyes and decided it wasn’t worth keeping it away from her any longer.

“What if we were?” he asked quietly.

He was alarmed to find his pulse quickening, as if concerned that she would try to warn him against it. He had no idea how much he wanted and needed her approval. For even though Arya doted on Dany, there was still no guarantee she’d be happy with him chasing her in such fashion.

His livelihood loomed like the proverbial elephant in the room.

Arya swallowed and then lowered her fork to the plate. She seemed to suddenly find the worm-like meal fascinating, and she remained silent for so long, Jon wondered if she really was reconsidering everything they had talked about. He was about to start up his defense, when she said quietly,

“She really likes you, Jon. She doesn’t have to say it, but it’s in the way she lights up when I even mention your name.” A small smile teased the corner of her lips. “It’s cute to see it, and I guess I should feel smug that it’s _you_ she’s harboring those feelings for. However, something tells me that all of this is new to her. I don’t know how I _know_ it, but I think it’s the first time she’s really felt this intense for anyone, and I don’t want her getting hurt…or you either.” She took a deep breath and looked up to meet his gaze again.  Her features were taut with worry. “I mean, if you two are getting serious, then it means you’re probably thinking of giving up your job, right?”

He looked away at that and her brows creased. “You mean you’re going to continue?”

“There are escorts with families, Arya,” Jon replied quietly. “I won’t be in a unique position-”

“But what about _her_ feelings? I’m sure she might be able to understand why you have to do it, but don’t you think it will eventually weigh on her mind? I mean, if I were her-”

“Well you aren’t, are you?” he snapped impatiently, promptly wincing at the flash of pain to flicker across her features before it was replaced with annoyance.

“You can be such an asshole, Jon Snow,” Arya retorted and rose to her feet, nearly sending the stool toppling to the floor in her haste.

“Oh, come on, Needle,” he sighed. “You know I didn’t mean that. I was just-”

“I get it. Stay out of your business, right? Trust me, I will,” she replied as she tossed the dish into the sink and stormed into the living room to find her coat. “Don’t come running to me when she decides to dump your ass for not putting her first.” She would stop long enough to ruffle Ghost’s head and kiss him in farewell, but as she yanked the front door open in readiness to complete her grand exit, she stopped with her head lowered in thought.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” she finally said quietly. “She’s a wonderful woman, Jon, but you can’t afford to take advantage of that.” She looked up with tears in her eyes. “I don’t know what kind of pressure or threat you’re under to make you want to remain with _The Watch_ , especially when you’ve finally found someone you can spend the rest of your life with, but…but…if it has anything to do with me-”

“Arya…”

She shook her head as if wishing away the troubling thoughts and forced a tremulous smile on her features. “Whatever, Jon. I promise not to be a burden anymore, okay? Just…do what you think is best. Bye.”

_She knows,_ Jon thought with a twisted clenching sensation within his chest. He absently welcomed his dog’s comforting presence; Ghost, as always, able to sense when his master was in the depths of despondency.

_Way to fuck things up, Jon Snow._

How stupid was he to assume Arya wouldn’t have noticed something ‘off’ about his lifestyle by now? She had always been too smart for her own good, always quick to pick up things when the rest of them had been slow to the game. It was one of the reasons she had earned the nickname ‘Needle’, not just of her sometimes prickly personality, but for being sharp beyond her years. Wouldn’t it be judicious to simply lay out the truth to her? To let her know that yes, she really was a big part of why he was still with the Lannisters. And yet, imagining the guilt she would feel – well, even more of it if she was already sensing the truth – was too much for Jon to bear.

And then there were the warnings about Dany’s feelings. Her _feelings_ …and if he was really to believe Arya, then maybe she really did want to be _more_ than friends. Perhaps he had tried to ignore or block what his eyes (and maybe heart) were actually seeing whenever he looked into those violet orbs…convincing himself that he was simply projecting his own feelings onto her and she was only overwhelmed as he was technically her ‘first’. This was all new and exciting for her, and that was a contagious feeling that had caused him to throw caution to the wind, spend a restless night, before typing away like an idiot at five in the morning asking for a goddamn ‘date’.

Of course she had the right to be puzzled at his request, and he was damn grateful she had agreed to it. A part of him was sure she’d decline, since she wasn’t used to spending time beyond her gates, but with Arya’s story of their day at the park, Jon felt more comfortable taking her away from her comfort zone and exposing her to more visual and auditory stimuli than she was used to.

He had already made a list of all the places they could possibly go to, but it would all depend on her of course. If she didn’t want to go anywhere in particular, he was not to push or force the issue. This was only going to be a day of fun – well as much fun as he could inject without hoping for too much.

_Consider her feelings, huh? …fuck me._

He sighed as his phone vibrated with a new message from Tyrion. Sprawling out on the couch, with a leg thrown over the backrest, he contemplated taking a nap when he knew he had to start packing his things for his next job. Pursing his lips, he skimmed through the text message listing his clients for the upcoming month. It was a familiar group - no new faces – so it was going to be tolerable. However, just as he was about to respond to the dwarf, a new message popped up; one that would have him give a literal gasp of surprise as a rush of heat flared through him.

**Hello Jon. How are you?**

_Always so formal,_ he thought as a helpless smile creased his features. _Must be that Targaryen upbringing or something._

With fingers that trembled slightly, he responded in kind. **It’s a Thursday afternoon, and I’m already exhausted.**

**Why? Did you work out for too long?**

**Had to brush out Ghost’s fur. He’s begun shedding like crazy. How about you? I mean the dogs. Have they gone through that horrendous phase yet?**

**Lol – not yet. But Sam brushes them down once a week, so it’s not so bad. But my bed is still a mess every morning.**

_Oh dear gods, that bed…_

Jon shook himself out of his mini-sinful daydream and typed back. **I know exactly what you mean. Ghost was a nightmare with his shedding.**

_Are we seriously going to keep talking about dogs and shedding?_ Jon wondered with a raised brow, hoping desperately that she’d change the subject. His prayers were answered with her next words.

**I saw Arya the other day. In the park.**

**She told me** –

_Before she stormed out of here,_ he thought with a sigh. He’d have to make it up to her, if she decided to return home that is.

**She said you all had fun.**

**It was lovely,** Dany agreed. **Such a beautiful day and I met some wonderful people.**

Jon’s heart stirred at that. **I’m happy to see you going out and meeting new faces. Feels good, doesn’t it?**

**Yes, it does.**

There was a pause where the dots seemed to swim forever before the words finally showed up.

**I wanted to get used to it before our meeting on Saturday. I didn’t want to freak out and worry you.**

A harsh breath escaped his lips as his stomach tightened with knots at her honest confession. To think she had faced her fears head-on just for him…

_You really are amazing, Dany. I’m not quite sure what I did in this life to have the pleasure of meeting someone like you, but I swear I’ll…_

Realizing he was spacing out and hadn’t responded  yet, he typed back quickly. **That makes me so happy, and I want the day to be a good one for you too. So, we’ll go slow.**

**I won’t break. I don’t think (lol). I wanted to show you something. Can I facetime you?**

Jon looked down at his bare chest in mild panic, but then remembered she had seen a whole lot more than that, so –

**Sure thing.**

He sat up and ran fingers through his hair to get it into some semblance of normalcy, but considering it was still damp from his shower, it left wet streaks on his hands, which had him wincing, wiping them on his lap, and nearly dropping the device when it buzzed again.

“Hey, you,” he greeted with a smile as her familiar features filled the screen…or would have until a familiar chestnut-colored bushy tail blocked the attractive view.

“Dro-Drogon,” she chided and disappeared for a moment to take care of her baby before popping up again breathlessly. She looked flushed, and from the background, Jon could tell she was in her art room. Her hair was in a messy ponytail, and there might have been a pencil stuck in it, but there was definitely faint streaks of watercolor or oil paint in hues of pale blue and yellow dotted upon her beautiful face, and as she attempted to wipe her cheek, she left even more streaks behind. Jon chuckled at the sight. At least it looked like she was wearing an apron of some sort to protect her clothes.

“You look a mess,” he said with a shake of his head. “What are you doing? Painting the entire house?”

Dany stuck out her tongue and set the phone in position. “It-it’s a pa-painting a-as a sur-surprise.”

“If it’s a surprise, why are you showing it to me now?”

She pointed to herself. “It’s n-not the pa-painting I want to sh-show you. It’s m-me! Silly!”

And just like that, she had him bursting with unrestrained laughter that seemed to wash away the myriad of issues that had plagued him so far today. It literally felt like she had personally lifted the unseen weight of responsibility and guilt from his shoulders, casting them aside and reminding him that he was only human. It was okay to have a little fun once in a while.

When he could compose himself, he wiped the tears away and shook his head in amazement.

“You are something else, you know that? Though I’m kind of worried that with you speaking now, I might have trouble getting you to shut up.”

“I-I can cu-curse out loud too,” she bragged and puffed out her chest. “If I me-mess up, I do-don’t have to-to po-pound my fist on th-the ar-arm rest anymore. I g-go ‘fuck!’ or ‘shit!’ and I fe-feel much be-better.”

Jon snickered. “Best feeling in the world, isn’t it?”

She nodded fervently. “I sc-scream in-in the sh-shower, so it-it helps.”

Jon pursed his lips in thought. “I guess I ought to do the same from now on. That way I don’t keep scaring my neighbors when I stand on my balcony and do it.”

She giggled and called him a moron using sign language, and picking up her sketchbook, she carefully showed him all the drawings she had made with their two visits to the park so far. For the next half hour, they went over each one, and with great patience, he listened to her try to regale the events of their outings – sometimes resorting to sign language when speaking became too exhausting. He hadn’t stopped learning it and was now getting more familiar with the gestures. Seeing her features light up with delight, or her clapping as he completed several sentences without speaking a word, made his entire fucking week. He felt like a kid being rewarded for finally being on his best behavior, and he was sure nothing else felt better than getting her seal of approval. Besides, he was still in awe of actually hearing her voice; a slightly raspy (yet melodic) sound with a tinge of that Essos accent creeping in every now and then.

“We-we will wo-work on your Va-Valyrian ev-eventually,” she said with a wag of her finger as he groaned and pretended to faint in dismay. “I-I-”

She stopped suddenly forcing him to sit up again. “Dany?” She was looking over her shoulder at something (or someone), and as Jon leaned closer, he could hear the male voice in the background.

“…ta-talking to a fri-friend,” Dany was saying. The male voice said something Jon couldn’t quite catch, but knowing it was Jorah, he could only imagine what the older man was saying to her.

_He’s still being over protective. I don’t think he’s ever going to be happy with me being in the picture, but then again…fuck what he thinks. I’ve laid out my case, and it’s up to him to get over it._

“J-Jon?” Dany said as she returned with a small smile of apology on her features. “My-my therapist is he-here. I ha-have to go now.”

“Oh, he comes over? I thought you went to see him?”

She shook her head. “No-no…for now…he-he comes here. He’s quite go-good.”

Jon nodded. “I’m sure he is, and I’ll bet he’s happy with your progress.”

Dany began to nod, but then a shy smile came to her lips. Her cheeks seemed rosier than usual, and her eyes seemed a tad darker in hue as she stated quietly, “He-he’s good, but he-he’s not as go-good as y-y-you. You are my be-best therapy, Jon Snow.”

_I think I’m in love you_ , came the abrupt and such definitive thought to fill his mind in that moment, Jon’s knees weakened in response. His entire being trembled at the clarity of it all, and he had to clasp his hands to control himself. He couldn’t get his lips to move, and he was fearful that if he did speak, those words would burst out and make him look and sound like a complete fool. However, what was one to say to those words? Especially from a woman who was slowly weaving an ever tightening thread around his heart? It wasn’t the first time he had heard such praise from the opposite sex, but those words coming from Dany…well…

_Thank you,_ he thought lamely as his eyes burned with unshed tears of such intense gratitude.

“Yo-you are wel-welcome,” came the words that let him know he had spoken that last bit out loud. “Oh, and c-can I see Ghost for a mo-moment?”

Jon obliged and smiled as his dog attempted to lick the device at the sound of his name coming from the screen. He did recognize Dany’s voice and barked in response, his tail wagging so hard, Jon was the recipient of several lashings to his torso and face.

“Same here, buddy,” Jon agreed after they had said their reluctant goodbyes. “Only my wagging tail is in my pants, and I’m not sure I can get off this couch for at least five minutes.”

Five minutes dragged on to ten…then twenty…then thirty, as he remained sprawled on the couch, lost in fantasies around a certain woman. Eventually, he knew he’d would have to drag himself back to reality, make a phone call to Arya to apologize (and beg her to please stay in the apartment as he hated having to leave Ghost at the vet’s), and prepare for his next job. Lucky it was with Mrs. Hildebrand – a widower who was content to listen to Jon read to her and talk her designer poodles for walks.

Saturday, in his humble opinion, couldn’t come fast enough.

 

* * *

 

Dinner was a quiet affair, broken only by the gentle clatter of forks against plates or the drifting sounds of classical music (an operatic masterpiece titled _‘Dance of Dragons’_ to be precise) from the stereo system in the living room. According to lore, it was allegedly written about her ancestors, and though Dany had watched the show on television a couple of times, she felt the actors never quite pulled off the passion of the Targaryens. With a family motto of ‘Fire and Blood’, their antics were more ‘shout and whimper’ than anything. Still the piano pieces were exceptional and Lady Branden’s solo performance left chills down her spine. Her role as Queen Visenya was the opera’s saving grace in Dany’s opinion.

Unfortunately, with Missandei having to attend a seminar at the college tonight, their meal was something Jorah had whipped up at the last minute. Dany would have preferred leftovers, or even take-out, for Jorah’s cooking left much to be desired. However, she didn’t have the heart to tell him otherwise. He had claimed it was chicken and bean sprouts stir fry, but most of the chicken tasted bland and the sprouts were woefully overcooked.

As she pushed the vegetables around her plate – attempting to create a circle of some sort – she wondered what Jon was preparing tonight. She knew he was back home from his latest job, as he had sent her a text once he arrived in King’s Landing. His eagerness for their meeting tomorrow had squashed down the tiny spark of envy at the idea of him spending time with someone else before their big day. However, she knew she had no right to feel that way. Jon had not made it clear that their outing was anything but two people simply enjoying a day out on the town. There were no promises of anything amorous…not that she would be averse to them sneaking a kiss or two here and –

“So,” Jorah’s voice interrupted, forcing her to look up with a start. She hoped her features weren’t too obvious with where her wandering thoughts had been.

“I was thinking,” the man continued with a pleased smile. “Since tomorrow’s going to be such a great one – weather wise – we could spend some time at the park. Seems you’ve been doing quite well with your excursions so far. So how does lunch at The Mirage sound?”

_Oh no…why would you decide to do this now?_ She winced and picked up her glass of water to sip from it slowly, now realizing she had forgotten to mention she wouldn’t be home all day tomorrow…at least for the better part of it. There had been a few opportunities to bring it up during the week, but whenever she felt ready to blurt it out, she never seemed able to get the words out right…or even sign them right. There was a part of her that still felt like it was betraying him, and she despised harboring those feelings of guilt. If only she could find a way to loosen this invisible ball and chain holding them together without losing herself…

Aware Jorah was still staring at her with hope in his dark gaze, she cleared her throat and composed herself enough to sign slowly.

_Thanks for the invite, but I already made plans…with Jon._

Her hands fell to her lap and clenched into fists of concern. She found herself unable to look directly into his eyes and tensed as she waited for his explosion or lectures on how terrible an idea it all was. With her heartbeat now so thunderous in her ears, it was all she could do not to scream at him to stop trying to make her feel remorseful with his silence.

“Jon,” came the quiet response. “I see.”

He shrugged and nodded slowly, as if such a thing was to be expected. “And does this plan interfere with lunch?”

_I’ll be gone for most of the day,_ she signed. Speaking at this time seemed impossible. _He should be here around eight._

“In the morning?”

She nodded.

“Now it all makes sense,” he muttered to himself. He downed the rest of his white wine and trained a smile on her. Dany wasn’t sure if to feel relieved or wary of it. “The reason why you wanted to go outdoors and see the park and all that…you were preparing yourself for tomorrow, weren’t you? That was brave of you.”

She shrugged and tried to smile, but that felt flat and insincere a motion.

“Well, as long as you two kids know what you’re doing and getting yourself into,” Jorah stated with a clap of his hands as he stared at his empty plate. “Now, _that_ was a meal. I’m stuffed.” He eyed her barely touched plate and frowned lightly. “What’s wrong? Didn’t you like it? Or are you just too excited for your big date?”

She had the grace to blush and figured she could go with that excuse. This time her bashful smile was a little more genuine.

“Fair enough,” Jorah said as he rose to his feet to clear up the plates. “I’ll save this for next time. You might enjoy it then.”

_Don’t bother,_ she wanted to say as he walked into the kitchen. “Ta-tastes li-like shit.”

“Hmm? Did you say something?” Jorah asked as he poked his head out again.

She shook her head fervently, eyes widened with complete innocence. However, once he was gone, she looked at Rhaegal – who had trotted into the dining room – and stuck out her tongue to mimic throwing up. She couldn’t help giggling at the bemused expression on her baby’s face as she placed a kiss on his head.

Boy, she couldn’t wait to share this particular story with Jon.

In the safety of her room, after excusing herself to Jorah who invited her to watch some television, she wheeled herself to her closet to eye the dress she planned on wearing tomorrow. It was a sheath dress – white with large red roses imprinted all over it – that came with a matching white cardigan. It was an outfit she had seen at a dress shop during her last outing with Missandei. She had fallen in love with the ensemble, and even though it was bound to expose her legs, the storeowner had suggested pairing it with white leggings to combat the cool weather if she so chose. For footwear, she chose a pair of white comfortable sneakers – again, this was hardly summer weather and wearing ballet flats might not be all that conducive either.

She had purchased other things, two more blouses, some jewelry including a stunning amethyst ring in the form of swirling silver dragons around the glittering stone. It was a reminder of her mother’s ring, the only memento of a woman she never really knew. Sadly, it was taken by the Dothraki during her incarceration never to be seen again. The jeweler had praised her taste and remarked on her striking ‘Targaryen-features’, which nearly had she and Missandei giggling at the irony. Still, it felt wonderful to be able to touch the clothes and other items for herself. In the past, Missandei always did the shopping, but this time – getting to pick what she wanted, see how they fit, and experience it all in person was a hundred times better than she had imagined. So yes, some of the stores hadn’t exactly considered wheelchairs weaving through their narrow aisles, and she had gotten a few extra long looks because of it, but it wasn’t enough to deter her eagerness. Shopping was _fun_!

Once in bed, she debated texting Jon, but held back knowing he was probably fast asleep with exhaustion. Missandei was probably sleeping as well, either that or was studying for her upcoming exams. There was also no guarantee she would show up tomorrow to help her get ready, so Dany was aware she was going to have to do this all on her own. Or maybe she could call on Arya to help, since she now knew about their date. Dany blushed as she pulled up the messages she had received from the younger woman; words of advice from a sister who knew her brother all too well.

**Have fun with him,** she had written. **And make sure he doesn’t brood for even a second. If he spends more than a minute trying to decide what fast food or ice cream or whatever he wants to buy, just pick anything and move on or you guys will be there for daaaaaaaaaaaaays. He’s going to want everything to be perfect for you, but you’ve got to remind him that this isn’t an escort service. You aren’t giving him grades for how well he behaves. He has to relax and be himself – his true self, and you’ll get to enjoy what those other women never get to see. Have a great day and get some awesome pictures! (heart-heart-heart emojis).**

_Thanks so very much for your blessings, Arya. I do hope I don’t give him cause to rethink his decision to push things further…if that is indeed his true intention._

And as much as she tried to will herself to sleep, she couldn’t. She hadn’t felt this nervous and eager since…well, probably since the day Viserys had promised they’d be leaving for a great big adventure in Essos. She vividly remembered being unable to sleep the night before, so thrilled at the thought of doing something new and different from her sheltered life. However, unlike then – when reality had presented itself to be anything but wonderful - she knew she’d have nothing to fear with Jon. He had proven himself to be of honorable intent, and if Arya’s text was anything to go by, he was just as imperfect as any normal human being. It made him all the more endearing and brought to mind his attentiveness and compassion during his weekend stay.

She couldn’t remember when the waves of weariness eventually washed over her, but when next she lifted her lashes, she had given herself a neck ache from her upright position. A quick glance at the clock showed it was now 6.45 a.m., and as she moved her legs, she felt the objects slide off her lap. She stared dumbly at her journal and pen, the cobwebs of sleep giving way to the recollection of her decision to write down her feelings about today.

There was a doodle of Jon surrounded by hearts (oh dear), and she blushed at how smitten it came across. It was all made worse with her poetic attempts at the end of her entry.

  _my sweet northern blue rose_

_rare is your savage beauty_

_blossoming from crypts of ice_

_to melt this frozen heart of mine_

_your flames of passion consume_

_leave me withering with desire_

_to inhale all of your magnificent essence_

_my sweet northern blue rose_

She winced and slammed the book shut, almost tossing it into the nightstand drawers and hoping it would remain there for the rest of her life. If Jon ever read anything that pathetic, he’d probably laugh her off the face of the earth.

With her features in a seemingly perpetual state of embarrassment, she prepared for the day with her heart skipping a beat at every inopportune moment. She wondered where they could go, and what they would do all day (and not for the first time as she had roleplayed every possible scenario in her overactive imagination all week). She had just slipped into her sneakers when Missandei finally showed up, breathless and apologetic for taking so long.

“I overslept,” she explained as she placed a kiss on her friend’s cheek in greeting. “That seminar took forever last night. And Professor Saan, no matter how hot he is, drones on foreeever.”

She stopped talking long enough to study the silent bashful woman, her features creasing into a proud smile. “Oh _ñuhor hāeder_. You look so pretty! If he doesn’t melt in a puddle of drool once he walks through that door, he isn’t human.”

Dany giggled and obediently allowed Missandei to tackle her hair and make-up. They settled on a series of braids forming a cascading V shape and held together with an oversize red rose clip to match the dress. She went light with the facial applications, since this was going to be an all day thing. All the same, Missandei left instructions on making sure Dany took the time to powder up now and then should she become sweaty for any reason…yes, even if it was for _that_ reason.

Dany burned at the insinuation and tried to remind her friend (and herself) that nothing more would come out of this day besides a fun outing.

Missandei’s eye roll and subsequent ‘yeah right’, did not help matters.

They made sure her satchel was filled with her necessities, including the gift for Jon, and as she was wheeled out of the room, both women could hear the familiar rumbles from two male voices in the foyer below.

“He’s heeeeeeeeeeeere,” Missandei announced unnecessarily, smiling as Dany’s features filled with that rosy hue of happiness that only seemed to appear whenever that man was mentioned. It was only heightened when the elevator doors opened and both men turned to acknowledge their presence, and for a brief – just brief – moment, Missandei felt a pang of envy at the undercurrent of tension and palpable surge of attraction between the couple.

Jon looked positively edible in his jeans and grey polo shirt. His black curls framed those dashing features, though there was a black hair band around his left wrist in case they needed to be tamed later on. His grey eyes seemed to flicker with emotions that were a cross between desire, admiration, and something else Missandei couldn’t quite put her finger on, but whatever it was, she knew her friend was in good hands.

“You look beautiful, Dany,” he would say after the initial greetings. It was low husky, and so damn intimate compliment, that made even her heart leap in response. Talk about a panty-dropping moment indeed. Why wasn’t he #1 on the escort rankings again?

She gave over the wheelchair to Jon, rattling off unnecessary instructions he politely listened to as he helped Dany slip into her jacket. With goodbyes said, including fond farewells to her whining babies, Dany would toss her one last look of girlish excitement to her friend before focusing on something Jon was whispering into her ear as they rolled down the ramp to his waiting car (being thoughtful enough to rent an SUV so her wheelchair could fit in the back). Her happy laughter rang into the brisk morning air, and Missandei beamed with pride at the sound, though she was quick to sense the discomfort from the silent man beside her.

_See?_ She thought with smug satisfaction. _That’s what real happiness sounds like, Jorah. Not with all the money and material things you squander on her but finding simple pleasures in the company of the man she truly loves._

“They should be all right,” she remarked with a smile tossed over her shoulder as she went in search of the leashes for the dogs. She might as well take them out for a walk before heading back home. “I wouldn’t worry too much about them.”

However, she knew she was convincing no one, for the last look she’d have of Jorah Mormont, was of him watching the car now heading out the gates with an expression that sent a chill of foreboding down her spine.

 

 

 

 

 


	12. Worth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi y'all! Seems like it's been an eternity, eh? But it's finally here *lol*
> 
> Hopefully, you enjoy this as much as I had fun writing it...and we'll just consider this the first-half of the fun and games...before things...well let's just enjoy what we've got, eh?! Whoohooo!
> 
> As always, I appreciate all the feedback and encouragement, because you get me motivated to keep churning this out. *bows gratefully*
> 
> P.S: Happy Birthday to Tillya!...and to anyone else who has a birthday this week! :D

 

 

* * *

 

 

Things were definitely not going according to plan.

“Die! Die! Die! Haha!”

Jon had never felt a more urgent need to throttle someone, even if said someone was some bratty kid now making faces and sticking out his tongue in overexuberant victory.

“You suck!”

_Why you…!_

And as if that wasn’t bad enough, the monitor began flashing his obvious failure:

**KO’D! YOU LOSE!**

“Damn,” Bratty Kid mourned as he shoved his head into Jon’s personal space to stare at the screen. “You didn’t even break the top one hundred! See?” He pointed to the name at the very top. **KICKAZZ101**. _What a surprise._ “That’s me, Loser! No one’s ever going to beat my score.”

“Shouldn’t you be locked up in a cage somewhere?” Jon muttered beneath his breath as he grabbed his unfinished cup of melted orangeade and stormed back to his very amused companion. He flopped onto the leather seat across her and tried to scowl at the wide grin thrown his way.

“It’s not funny, Dany,” he grumbled despite his now flaming features. Couldn’t she try looking less pretty for his sanity’s sake? “Seven hells, it’s barely nine in the morning, and I’m already getting my ass kicked.”

Dany shoved a piece of the, quite delicious, buttermilk pancake into her mouth and reached out to pat his hand in reassurance. “You ga-gave it your be-best shot. Y-You were thiiiiiiiiiis cl-close.”

“Yeah, by being dead last. Sheesh.”

As he began complaining about how he was definitely sure he could have beaten the little asshole, said little asshole was now challenging another kid to battle. Smiling at the scene, Dany took another sip of her fresh ice tea, tuned out Jon, and focused on the sights and sounds of the lively diner.

Nostalgia oozed from its very pores. It was in the pastel blue walls filled with black-and-white photos of famous patrons and celebrities. It was in collectible memorabilia from vintage vinyl records to car plates (and parts) dotting built-in shelves. It was in the lone archaic arcade machine to the shiny-with-age checkered linoleum floor, the bright red leather seats and matching stools at a counter that ran the length of the rather intimate establishment. In a corner sat one of the largest jukeboxes she’d ever seen. It was just like the ones in the movies, with its shiny chrome edges, authentic oak panels, and a selection of music dear Mrs. Frey would usually dance to while she worked in the kitchen. Dany had longed to hear something from it, but the owner apologized with regret, claiming ‘the bloody thing keeps breakin’ down. I gots to call Ol’ Biggins to come fix it agin. Sorry ‘bout that, Miss.’

Disappointing yes, but at least they made up for it by playing the golden oldies from a local radio station, though the antiquated radio had to be adjusted by a mousy freckled redhead waitress every now and then. Since she was quite petite, she usually had to climb a stool to get to the device, and it was quite entertaining watching her try not to fall while muttering curses beneath her breath. Dany made a mental note to leave her a generous tip afterwards.

As she mopped up the syrup with the last of her pancake – and thankfully Jon was now finishing up his sausages – she glanced out the window and into a parking lot almost at capacity. Business clearly boomed on the weekend.

Actually, this hadn’t been Jon’s original choice, as he had wanted to take her to a place more upscale for breakfast. However, when she’d shyly asked if they could come here (and no, it most definitely wasn’t because she had done some research on possible sights around King’s Landing to visit someday because…well…that would make her weird, wouldn’t it?) his surprised -and rather pleased- response made it all worthwhile. He didn’t come here too often, but it was a nice family-friendly eatery that’s been a King’s Landing staple for over fifty years. Besides, their House Special waffles and pancakes were the best.

She could vouch for that. They were so fluffy, they literally melted on your tongue.

Wondering if they provided delivery services, she watched an elderly couple make their way up the short ramp – with the husband holding onto his wife as they both maneuvered carefully with their walking canes. Her heart stirred at the sight, her thoughts straying to how amazing it was to observe so many dynamic relationships in real time. From young families with their excited children racing into the diner, to teenagers – clad in the latest fashion – chatting absently to each other while glued to their cell phones, to the loner man or woman content to read the morning newspaper or novel over steaming cups of coffee. Each and everyone had fascinating stories they never had to speak about. All one had to do was study their expressions or body language and you could tell who was having a rough time of it, who was exhausted, who just wanted to be left alone, and who didn’t mind chatting it up for the rest of the meal. Spoken and unspoken conversations filled the air and created a cacophony of society she had been denied the pleasure of witnessing from the day she was born.

Life had always revolved around a few people; the cocoon at the mansion in her formative years, to deep beneath the bowels of Vaes Dothrak, to the bubble at Braavos. But as Missandei had said, things were different now. She had to keep working on breaking down those mental and physical barriers she’d erected around herself, and today was going to be the grand test of her mini-crash explorations with her best friend so far.

Would she pass? It was hard to tell.

Sure she still got the odd looks, especially from those who wondered why someone so young was stuck in a wheelchair. She had no cast on her legs, neither had she lost any limbs. The silent queries were always in the sometimes flash of pity that flickered in their eyes. Most chose to smile and not ask, while others looked away and pretended as if nothing was amiss. On her first outing, Dany wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that, and her immediate response had been to reach for a nonexistent to mask to cover her face. Her saviors had come in the form of the veteran soldier and his wife, a lovely young couple who could relate to Dany’s predicament and helped ease her discomfort.

Today, however, despite the initial concern of her wheelchair being too clunky to fit in the diner and the odder and more uncomfortable looks she was bound to get if she caused a scene, Jon reassured her that there was probably a section reserved for the disabled.

“It’s the law,” he explained as he pushed her up the ramp. “They have to provide such amenities.”

True the eatery had done its best to create a space for someone in her situation, but there was still no getting rid of the slight bouts of embarrassment at being ‘different’. She would have loved to be able to sit on the leather seat and to get the full experience of being in such a place but –

“Look, Mommy! She’s in a wheelchair!”

Both Dany and Jon turned at the sudden loud announcement, noticing the cute blonde girl – could be no older than five – clutching onto a doll dressed just like her (ringlets included) and pointing at Dany. Her blue eyes were wide with innocent curiosity that did cause Dany to tense up. She could hear Jon’s barely audible wince and noted the horror stricken expression on the mother’s face.

“Clementine!” came the low panicked warning. “Don’t be rude to the lovely lady-”

“But she’s in a wheelchair, Mommy. Did she break her legs? Like Teddy?”

Mother was almost apoplectic at this point. She grabbed Clementine by the arm and was prepared to apologize for her daughter’s inquisitive nature, when Dany figured she might as well diffuse the situation. She smiled warmly at the young girl and leaned forward, hoping her stutter wouldn’t be too bad as she spoke slowly.

“My legs are not as st-strong as yours,” she explained. “That’s wh-why I’m in this chair.”

“Oooh.” Clementine’s eyes widened as if she had just discovered the greatest of news. “So will your legs get stronger again?”

Something hard twisted within Dany’s chest and she had to take a breath and force herself to maintain the smile. She could almost see herself at this age, only her hair had been less curly, and she hadn’t dressed up like a miniature doll. Still…once upon a time, she had been Clementine, with legs that could run or hop up and down a flight of stairs, dash through the woods and out toward the lake, and speedy enough to get away from her brother’s angry –

“Som-someday,” she finally replied and kicked out a leg as if to prove it. “Som-someday th-they will ge-get stronger. Wi-will you wish me lu-luck?”

Clementine nodded and to her mother’s chagrin and Dany’s surprise, wrapped her tiny arms around Dany’s neck in a hug. “I’ll think of you, lady. And will see you when you walk again. Promise.”

Her mother was finally able to detangle her from Dany with a series of profuse apologies, though it was clear her curiosity had been sated as well. They would pad away with Clementine’s fading analysis of ‘she smells nice, Mommy’ dispelling into the rumble of the other customers’ conversations.

Dany turned back to her empty plate…which Freckled Waitress (aka Bethany) was now clearing away. She would look up to meet an inscrutable expression in those familiar grey eyes, and she blushed as she folded and refolded the napkin on her lap.

“Sh-she was cute,” she finally said with her cheeks burning with embarrassment.

“Are you okay?” came the quiet question of concern. He signed it for her added benefit, and she was happy to see him getting more proficient at it.

Nodding quickly, she signed back in reassurance. _Don’t worry. My feelings weren’t hurt. A child’s honesty is refreshing. They tell it like it is and don’t try to be politically correct._

Jon’s lips quirked into a small smile, and before he could stop himself he was reaching out to brush away the stray strand of hair to nearly enter her mouth. “Well, you handled it like a champ, my Lady.”

“St-stop calling me that,” she whispered as her features turned even rosier.

Jon smirked and leaned closer still, his brows waggling suggestively. “And here I was contemplating kissing your hand and everything. What do you want me to call you then?”

“Da-Dany is fine…Dae-Daenerys if you must.”

“Daenerys.” The name rolled off his tongue with that northern twang that made her stomach flip in response. She kicked herself mentally for being so powerless to his flirtations and might have made a light jab to break the tension, when he made a face and shook his head.

“Too fucking long.”

“What?”

“Daenerys,” he mock whined. “Dany’s better. Sweetheart even more. Now, we could progress to ‘darling’, but…ouch!”

She had jabbed his arm and turned away; hoping no one else would wonder why she was trying not to smile like an idiot as she spun her wheelchair onto the aisle to lead the way outside. She stopped long enough to give Bethany the tip and to thank her for being such a nice hostess. The poor girl was so gob smacked by the praise and apparently the money thrust into her hand, because she was literally still open-mouthed and gawking as Jon pushed her out of the building.

“Just how much did you give her? An entire week’s paycheck?” Jon asked with a laugh. They both reached for their sunglasses as the mid-morning sun blazed upon them despite the cool breeze drifting from the south.

“Ju-just a little so-something,” was Dany’s enigmatic reply.

Once in the car, she clapped her hands and bounced on the seat in excitement. Maybe it was the food in her stomach giving her more courage because goodness knows the ride here had been more nerve wracking despite Jon’s attempts to get her to relax. She had been so unsure of how to ‘behave’ on a date despite all the movies and tips the books provided. If Jon had been nervous as well, he broke the tension by admitting he felt that way right off the bat. She was moved by his honesty, though they had a good laugh at how ridiculous they were being.

 _Let’s just try to have fun,_ she had encouraged him. Recalling Arya’s message about making him feel relaxed and reminding him that she was not a ‘client’, she vowed not to put any pressure on him. All the same, she couldn’t help wondering if she was going to be taken to places he might have been with other women. His choice of the fancy restaurant was a typical ‘try-to-impress-her’ move, but she didn’t want to be…well… _recycled_ if that made any sense. She wanted to experience _new_ things with him and only him; to be taken to places he had never taken any other woman to, and if had simply chosen only destinations  –

“What’s got you pouting already?” Jon asked as he glanced her way. “You asked where we were going next, right? Or did you have something else in mind? Whatever you want-”

“I-I’m not go-going to choose any pl-place else,” she said quickly. “I was just…I me-mean you pro-probably already picked out pl-places for us to go, and I don’t wa-want to mess up your pl-plans.”

Jon chuckled as they wound their way down the Street of Sisters. “Weeeell, I did have an itinerary, but since we’re winging it now…”

She eyed his profile, wondering if he was being serious, but when she noticed the twitch of his lips into a smug smirk, she realized he was only messing with her.

“Jooon!”

“Whaaaaat?” He let out a hearty laugh. “Okay, okay, how does visiting Hayford’s Castle sound? It will take us an hour to get there, but it’s got-”

“The mysterious hidden village where the Lady of the Leaves is supposed to have lived!” she gasped in delight, recalling the plot to one of her favorite books as a child. “Are we really going there?”

Jon gave a mock salute. “Yes, my lad…eh…”

She folded her arms across her chest, despite the rapid increase of her pulse. Raising a brow, she dared him to –

“…my dearest?”

“You ass!” His laughter as she playfully attacked him again had her giggling as well.

The supposed hour-long drive went by too fast, mostly thanks to Dany choosing to read everything out to Jon about Hayford Castle and the hidden village according to a couple of websites she visited on her cell phone. Tall buildings of steel, concrete, and brick had long given way to open fields and rolling hills, and as they approached the castle, hazy amongst the morning’s mists on its hilltop perch, Dany began recording and taking photos from her phone before Jon could even stop the car.

 _This is so exciting,_ she signed as words failed her. She really was like a kid in a candy store, and it was all Jon could do not to keep staring at how adorable she looked while bouncing impatiently on her seat waiting for her wheelchair.

Apparently, they weren’t the only fans of the castle as they were quite a few cars in the parking lot already. With their tickets in hand, they were just in time for the eleven o’clock tour, and for the next hour and a half, they were taken around the relatively ‘intimate’ abode of House Hayford. It was a lovely castle, now designated as a historical landmark, due to the passing of young Lady Ermesande Hayford about five years ago. She had been the last of her name, and with no one to continue their family line, it seemed a waste to let the castle rot. Sure it cost the taxpayers a lot of money for the upkeep, but as Jon and Dany stood on one of the many curtain walls to look out at the expanse of rich green land accentuated with a silver stream alongside the castle, they could see why it was such a tourist attraction.

Though neither said this aloud, each did have to wonder how it would feel to show each other their respective castles…or rather real childhood homes. She no longer really had a claim to Dragonstone…as long as Stannis kept dragging his feet, and Jon…well, he was still fighting for Winterfell, a noble cause she could appreciate. Even if it was no longer standing, she couldn’t help imagining how wonderful a place it must have been.

But they were here now. And here really was breathtaking – breathtaking enough for her to take a couple of pictures of she and Jon, but especially of Jon when he wasn’t looking. Dear gods, but his profile really was near regal, but then again, weren’t the Starks once believed to be ‘kings’ of the north.

“Keep staring at me like that, and I’ll be forced to take you into one of those forbidden rooms to teach you a lesson,” he whispered in her ear, nearly causing her to drop the phone as he pushed her back to join the rest of the tourists. She tried not to squirm in her seat at the torrent of sinful images to flash through her mind, and it took most of her concentration to focus on what the guide was saying. Jon didn’t help matters by ‘accidentally’ brushing the side of her right breast as he attempted to unlock the brakes of the chair.

The familiar sexy curve of his lips told the story, and she hated him oh-so-very much.

Mercifully, distraction came in the form of a delightful outdoor lunch with the other tourists; many of them from Dorne and some from as far as the Iron Isles. However, as friendly as they were, it would be the beginning of many misunderstandings about their relationship, as having to listen to people claiming they were a ‘lovely couple’ and could they please pose for pictures – left them embarrassed (though secretly pleased at the ‘error’). In fact, after the fifth mistake, both stopped trying to argue the point. It was an unspoken agreement that for today at least, they’d carry on the ‘couple’ act and keep on moving.

“And now we ask you all to be very quiet as we prepare for our journey into the Hidden Village, where many believe the Lady of the Leaves still wanders about,” the tour guide announced in an appropriate creepy voice that had the tourists oohing and aahing.

Jon knew it was all bullshit, but as he studied Dany’s wide-eyed expression - that unbridled innocent awe - he could almost forgive the money-sucking tactic of this particular aspect of the tour. He suffered the clutching of his arm with her excitement, and though he told himself he wouldn’t be interested in this fabricated legend, by the time they had made their way through the creepy as fuck village with its empty debilitated buildings and eerie silence (hell, not even the birds could be heard in this neck of the woods), Jon was secretly glad when they were back in civilization. There had been no ghost sightings, thank the gods. But did this deter the ever imaginative Dany? Hell no. As he pushed her back to the car, she talked about ‘sensing’ the Lady of the Leaves watching them. She was sure the old woman was still there, and to his amazement – as he drove them to their next destination - she whipped out her sketchpad to begin drawing what she felt she had seen.

“Holy fuck! That’s creepy, Dany,” he exclaimed when she held up the pad when finished. “Are you sure you really saw that?”

“Just like my dr-dreams as a child,” she admitted as she studied the picture. Sunken eyes in a skull of a face with long white hair fluttering into the wind. She was barely wearing any clothes – if you considered the rags Dany had put on her as clothing - and she was holding onto an old-fashioned lamp. “It was eerie.”

“No shit,” Jon agreed and turned the station to something catchy and upbeat. “Ready for our next stop?”

“Yes!”

“Great! And no creepy places this time.”

She laughed and rolled her eyes. “Wh-where are we go-going now?”

He grinned and slid her a playful glance. “A place where you’re bound to get wet, sweetheart.”

He looked as if he was about to add something cheeky to that statement, but at her warning glance, he zipped his mouth and behaved himself. Well, not before giving her a scorching head to toe examination that had her wishing the seat would rip open to swallow her whole. Wishing her insides wouldn’t act as if it was molten lava at this point, she glared at her phone as if it was responsible for her reaction.

_Goddamn him._

 

* * *

 

“I ca-can’t swim,” she reminded him as they pulled up to the building. Once upon a time she could, but no more obviously. She could already hear the rushing roar of water in the distance, and the sign “Wendwater Rapids” wasn’t exactly helpful.

“Don’t worry,” Jon reassured her with a kiss to her cheek. “We won’t be swimming…at least I hope we won’t.”

They got in line with about ten other ‘daredevils’ mostly couples and one family with two boys who looked the most excited about the whole thing. In time, the gates swung open and a burly man – tanned and buff and probably ready to bench press a thousand pounds if you’d let him – sauntered out in a wet suit with a wide grin on his features. Trailing him were two assistants – male and female – both just as fit and eager to jump off mountains with no ropes or something else crazy like that.

“Welcome to Wendwater Rapids,” the man bellowed in a thick Braavosi accent she could recognize anywhere. “My name is Tormo Fregar, and these are my assistants, Uthero and Marla. Today you’re going to experience the rush of white water rafting firsthand. Are you all ready?!”

This elicited whoops and cheers from the group, and Dany was amused to see how happy Jon was about this. He knew he loved his sports, but water rafting?

“First some rules…” Tormo began as he passed out leaflets on safety, gear, and all the other information they’d need for a guaranteed fun experience.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Jon whispered when he noticed Dany not being attentive. “I just thought it would be fun to-”

“I’ll-I’ll be okay,” she whispered back with a small smile. “I’m just a bit…ne-nervous I guess. It’s be-been awhile since I’ve even been ne-near water of this mag-magnitude and-”

“…that’s fine. We’ll go back,” Jon cut in with a nod of understanding. “I should have checked in with you first and-”

She placed a hand on his arm and shook her head firmly. “N-No. You don’t ha-have to stop on my acc-account. I’ll be fine. I-I promise. As lo-long as you’re with me-”

“Everything okay here?” Tormo asked as he bounded up to them, his megawatt smile never wavering. “What’s wrong, lovely miss?” He stooped before the wheelchair. “Nerves?”

“I gu-guess you co-could say that,” Dany agreed with a sheepish smile. “It’s m-my first ti-time.”

Tormo laughed. “You’re not the only one. See that lady over there?” He pointed to a woman about Dany’s age, who was currently being fitted with a wet suit. “Her first time too. Even this fella you’re hanging out with was a newbie at one point.”

Jon had the grace to blush at being called out, but Tormo wasn’t finished yet. “Came here green to the gills, and now? He’s a Class Six.”

“Wh-what’s a Cl-Class Six?” Dany queried.

“Fuckers who have suicide wishes,” Tormo replied with a laugh. “Pardon my language, miss. But not to worry, we won’t be tackling that side of the Wendwater. We’re an easy group, so Class One. As long as you know how to paddle, you should be fine, eh?”

“Ah…”

“Marla!” Tormo hailed forcing the brunette assistant to jog up to them. Tormo rose to his feet. “Give our guest of honor the full VIP treatment. I insist. Don’t you worry, Miss. Marla’s the best, and she’s going to be with you every step of the way.”

Marla gave her a warm smile and began to push Dany away from Jon. She would have just enough time to look over her shoulder at her date, who gave her a thumbs up in reassurance as Tormo slapped an arm over his shoulder to begin to speaking to him. Ol’ pals and all that. Unfortunately, overhearing the barely audible ‘what happened to that other one? The gal with the tits, eh?’ had Dany biting her lower lip as a flash of white hot jealousy ran through her. So much for going on a unique dating experience.

She forced a smile on her visage as Marla helped her into the outfit, standing up to steady herself against the other woman as the skintight clothing and inflatable lifejacket was put on. Finally unable to resist, she asked quietly.

“Yo-you kn-know Jon, right?”

“Jon Snow?” Marla asked as she motioned for Dany to turn around on the bench, so she could tackle the back of the lifejacket. There was a smile in that voice, and why not? At least ninety percent of the females they had met today had given Jon more than a passing glance in appreciation. Why would Marla be immune to his charm? “Yes, I know him. Comes here every now and then.”

Dany nodded. She knew this felt petty, childish, stupid even. She knew his job. She knew he had to take other women out, but she had hoped…

“Do-does he co-come alone?” came the words before she could stop them. Foolishly, she hoped Marla would say something like ‘of course!’ and what she had overheard from Tormo would be nothing more than just a figment of her imagination.

“Yes, so far,” Marla replied as she stepped back to eye her handiwork. “But then again, I just started about six months ago, and he’s been here only three times…alone.” She reiterated with a smile as if aware of Dany’s inner turmoil before helping her back into the wheelchair. “But come along now. It’s time to have some fun, huh?”

Dany was sure she was never going to have any fun but seeing the other tourists in varying degrees of anticipation, forced a reluctant smile on her features. Jon, now dressed appropriately, jogged up to take over wheelchair duties. His unspoken query caused her to squeeze his hand in reassurance, even as her heart jackhammered within her chest as Tormo led them past another set of gates and across a short wooden bridge. She would have just enough time to appreciate the thick foliage and deceptively calm brook beneath them before they descended into a parking lot where there were already several groups of people in place. Some looked like veteran rafters, for they were geared up like warriors preparing for battle as they boarded a shuttle taking them toward the raging waters begging for possible victims. The other group were all drenched and laughing in the afterglow of their experience, and it was clear they were to board this shuttle heading in the opposite direction.

“All aboard, ladies and gentlemen!” Tormo roared. “Uthero and Marla will be your guides. I’ll be waiting right here for your return. Enjoy the beauty of Wendwater!”

Dany would have to forgo the wheelchair, and though the sudden dread of falling flat on her face overwhelmed her, Jon held onto to her and with careful steps – with everyone else being patient and understanding – she finally collapsed on the seat with a grateful smile. She still didn’t let go of Jon’s hand as the vehicle took off for their destination, but she did take the time to admire the natural landscape. Uthero was rattling off something about the history of the river and how it led into the Narrow Sea, and as much as she tried to pay attention, she still couldn’t help wondering if the ‘girl-with-the-tits’ had been in this very same position.

Or she was probably an expert and wouldn’t need to be clinging to Jon like a leech.

Hating herself for being such a sourpuss about the whole thing, she forced herself to be chipper as they approached the sea-green barely rushing waters of the eastern portion of the river. Bordered by towering sentinels and weirwoods on either side, the river was peaceful and hardly intimidating at all. Their raft was quite large and able to fit them all, and as Dany adjusted on her seat and strapped in with the help of Jon and Marla, she grabbed her bright blue paddle and allowed the first real smile of the afternoon to come to her visage. This could actually be fun.

“Ready, Dany?” Jon asked as Uthero gave last minute instructions and reminded them of the rules to stay safe.

Dany took a deep breath and nodded firmly. “Ready.”

 

* * *

 

By the time they were through, she was soaking wet, unable to stop laughing and had a field day ruffling Jon’s dripping curls from his head and face at any opportunity she got. She had worn a helmet, but it didn’t stop her braids from getting soaked all the same, and as they stepped out of the raft, they were encouraged to pose for a group picture which they all did with loud cries and cheesy expressions.

“Look at you,” Jon gushed with pride as she leaned against him. “You were paddling like a beast out there. Especially when we hit the north side.”

“So much for it being ca-calm. Th-that came out of nowhere!” she agreed as she shook her head once the helmet was off. Her amethyst eyes glowed like priceless jewels with exhilaration, her cheeks flushed with the adrenaline rush. She was pumped and probably ready to go for another round when the sudden unexpected and all too brief hard pressure of his lips against hers caused a whole other kind of rush to fill her insides.

“Sorry,” he apologized in a husky whisper against them. “I’ve been dying to do that all day.”

A slow smile crawled onto her face as she fell into those endless pools of warm, swirling grey, and wrapping her arms around his neck, she responded in kind, ignoring the low whistles and cat calls from the other tourists who enjoyed the public display of affection.

“Okay, already you two,” the oldest of the group; a jovial History professor cackled as his wife swatted his arm playfully. “We’ve got kids here, eh?”

Dany and Jon finally broke apart to get some air with bashful smiles, but since her knees had no plans to help her move any longer, Jon chuckled and lifted her into his arms, earning even more cheers from the group as they headed toward their waiting shuttle.

Their next stop was a much quieter affair, but no less exciting. Since he knew of her love for theater, he had purchased tickets to an Off-Roseroad production of _A Maiden’s Honor_. Featuring the talented Lyseni actress, Lady Larra Rogare, there was already buzz of it winning many accolades in the upcoming award season. The theater was intimate, and with comfortable seats somewhere in the middle, they had a great view of the stage and its brilliant performances.

Jon, who usually dozed off in the few times he’d been forced to attend such things, actually found himself living voraciously through Dany’s every expression and body language. When the lead actress was in trouble, Dany’s body would be as tense as a bow string, her fingers digging groves into his forearm as she lived through every pain and anguish the Maiden experienced. When the Maiden met her match on the battlefield, and the sparks flew between them, Dany sighed and leaned against him especially when they shared their first kiss. The tears would come when the Maiden’s true love would die in her arms before succumbing to her own wounds from the enemy’s arrows. It was a beautiful story all around but depressing if one really thought about it.

Dany didn’t think so.

Over a late lunch, or rather an early dinner, at a nearby restaurant with a great view of Blackwater Bay, she was more than glad to spew a dissertation on what the Maiden had gone through. Her life story was clearly a take on how marginalized women were and how society had not changed in over a century. Jon listened as best he could, finding that she did make some incredibly good points. He found himself challenging her with questions on some of her theories, and silently marveled at how articulate and intense she could become when she was trying to get her message across.

 _I could see her in position of power,_ he mused as he absently pushed around the few stalks of celery left on his plate. _Get her in a room of power brokers, and she’ll probably have them all selling their shares to her without realizing they were doing it._

And here was the most surprising thing of the conversation. Her stutters were less noticeable.

 _She hasn’t even realized it yet,_ he mused with his heart swelling with admiration. It seemed like the more she exposed herself to conversation, the more freedom she had to get the words out. By the time she was done writing her verbal essay on the play, she urged Jon to take her to another production when possible. Dear gods, he had a theater freak on his hands. But then again, recalling all her costumes and the stories about her performances as a child…this shouldn’t have come as a surprise.

Promising to do so, they left the restaurant, but only far enough to sit on one of the many outdoor benches where the soothing sea breeze wafted over them.

“Oh my,” Dany sighed and sagged against him as they looked out to the bay. It was turning out to be a lovely sunset; the deep oranges and reds casting dark silhouettes upon the figures walking, jogging, or somersaulting along the beach. In the distance, cargo ships bobbed like ghostly sentries, and every now and then a sailboat or jet ski would interrupt the picturesque setting as they sped past.

“I couldn’t move a muscle even if I tried,” she groaned. “I am stuffed!”

“You barely ate anything,” Jon remarked with a soft laugh as he absently brushed away the hair from her face and placed a kiss on her temple. “You didn’t like the food?”

“The tomatoes were ov-overcooked,” she complained, scrunching up her nose and lips in distaste. “And I sw-swear I heard a crunching sound while sipping my potato soup. I was eating sand, Jon. _Saaaand!_ ”

Jon pretended to gag and suffered her attempts to tickle him. He made to dive for her to retaliate but was happily distracted with her lips finding his again. Soft, oh-so-sweet with that hint of salt and wine still lingering with every savor of her twin offerings.

Gods, he could get used to this…all of this… _all of her_ …in fact…

“Fuck,” he panted breathlessly as he released her with great reluctance, his hands still upon her waist to steady her as she was all but sliding onto his lap. He swallowed and rest his forehead against hers, staring deep into darkening violet eyes begging silently for the ultimate completion to their meal. “I did have plans to take you one other place, but-”

“I want you now,” she interrupted with a husky whisper in his ear, her teeth grazing the lobe to make her intentions clear. Her breath felt hot against his skin, a tremble running through her slender frame as she writhed seductively on his lap. To hell with his next plans. She had been patient enough all day, and perhaps it was the culmination of how utterly delectable he had looked all day, dealing with other women who were just as hungry for him, or still smarting over the knowledge that he had shared, at least one of their special moments with some other woman – whatever it was, she was ready to satiate a lust that’s been brewing from the moment she laid eyes on him. Their time was running short as well. She was sure after this final stop, it was back to that mansion and to spending a night with a man she definitely didn’t want to be with.

_Not yet…not yet…I want to stay with you for as long as I can…_

She slid a hand beneath his shirt to feel the clenched muscles of his torso. She smiled against his bearded cheek, enjoying the slightly abrasive texture against her lips as she dug her nails into his flesh. His guttural growl, low curse, and tightened grip on her waist might have been the final acquiescence to her silent demands when a familiar voice had them sitting up with a guilty start.

“Jonno! Is that really you, my boy?!”

_Fuck no! Way to time this really badly, Tor-_

Before he could turn around completely to greet his friend, he was just about lifted off the bench and gathered into the mother of all bear hugs.

Grateful for the growing darkness, Dany – now a million shades of red at how brazen she had been in a public setting – sat up and tugged the hem of her dress over her knees, though faintly amused (and maybe a tad frightened) at the size of the man still hugging Jon and showering him with praises. He looked like a giant red bear, all things considered, and just when Dany was sure Jon might be kidnapped, a tall, blond statuesque female walked up to them with a longsuffering sigh escaping her lips.

“Let him go, Tormund. It’s clear he was with someone, you big oaf.”

The woman smiled at Dany, her plain features highlighted by a pair of the bluest eyes Dany had ever seen. She held out her hand in greeting. “My apologies for the interruption, but I did try to get him away. Apparently, Jon’s like a son to him and there’s absolutely no way he wasn’t going to say hello to his ‘boy’. The name’s Brienne by the way. Nice to meet you.”

“Dany. Nice to meet you too,” she replied as she accepted the handshake. Not surprising, Brienne’s grip was strong, and Dany assumed one had to be of her caliber to be dating such a boisterous personality.

“I swear to the gods, Tormund,” Jon began when he was finally released and attempted to adjust his shirt and hair. “If you don’t-”

“And here she is! The one who has stolen our Jonno’s heart!” Tormund cut in as he focused his attention on the wide-eyed Dany. Sincerely hoping she wouldn’t be lifted off the bench, she was struck dumb as the big man fell to a knee and reached for her hand to place a kiss on the back of it.

“Fair maiden,” he waxed poetic, causing both Jon and Brienne to roll their eyes at his antics. “You must be sent from the gods because no one should legally be allowed to be this breathtaking! Mwaah!” He placed a harder kiss on the back of her hand and rose to his feet, his eyes sparkling with infectious warmth.

“So where are we heading to this fine evening?” Tormund queried with a rub of his hands.

“To a place you aren’t going to,” Jon replied as he and Brienne shared a quick ‘hello’ before beelining toward Dany as if to rescue her from any more of Tormund’s overexuberant attacks. “We were just leaving-”

“Leaving for where?” the big guy asked incredulously. “Surely you can’t tell me you’re missing out on one of the most fun events in King’s Landing tonight, are you?”

Dany, against her better judgment, was intrigued. “What event?”

“Only the greatest free concert this side of Westeros!” Tormund thundered. “Everyone will be there!”

“He’s right though,” Brienne agreed as she opened her jacket to reveal the concert pass draped around her neck. “My cousin is one of the organizers and every year, it’s a gathering of indie artists hoping to make their name in the music industry. No big names, which is why it’s free, but the exposure is awesome. You should both come…if you want to that is.”

Dany was sorely tempted, and a quick glance at Jon showed that it was something he was actually interested in.

“Have you been to one of those be-before?” she queried.

Jon gave a nod. “One time only. It was pretty interesting-”

“It was a riot!” Tormund expanded as he wrapped an arm around Jon’s shoulder to squeeze him hard. He laughed. “This lad here got so drunk on the music – and alcohol -  he didn’t want to leave.”

Jon blushed in embarrassment, before leaning close to whisper in Tormund’s ear. “She’s in a wheelchair. There’s no way she can see anything from where we might end up and I don’t-”

“Didn’t you hear Brienne say her cousin is one of the organizers?” Tormund asked with a raised brow. “Fuck finding the right seat, we’re going to be _on stage_ , my friend. We’ll be so close to the performers, their sweat will drip all over us.”

“That’s disgusting,” Brienne said with a laugh, and even Dany had to make a face at the imagery though she ended up giggling.

In the end, they somehow ended up in Tormund’s truck and were soon at the Dragonpit, which had been transformed into the typical rock concert setting complete with lights bright enough to be seen from the shores of Pentos probably, to four large monitors – two flanking the stage itself and the others positioned at either side of the outdoor amphitheater. Brienne disappeared for a moment to see some people, only to return with backstage and V.I.P. passes for all of them.

The concert was already in full swing as they were ushered onto the side of the stage, and Dany, who despite her best attempts to enjoy the deafening sounds, couldn’t help covering her ears at some point. Brienne was quick to find her some headphones, a great help as it made the cacophony more tolerable. There were a few other VIPs in attendance, and two other wheelchair-bound attendees who nodded to her in solidarity. But as much as she appreciated being given such special treatment, she still felt a pang of envy at the heaving crowd of young bodies out there beneath the night sky. If she was able to gain full function of her legs, she might have been amongst them, drenched with sweat, probably sitting on Jon’s shoulders and screaming along with the artistes as they performed their greatest hits.

She didn’t know who the performers were, but some of their songs were catchy and she found herself tapping her feet and nodding along with some choruses. By the time the third band had come on stage; and this was an all-female group, it was now completely dark. Someone passed out water bottles, and Dany drank thirstily, wincing as she realized she was actually sweating. The lights on stage were quite intense after all.

“You okay?” Jon asked as the lead guitarist of the band began to strum the opening notes to their song. He had to yell over the roar of noise, and Dany nodded with a thumbs up sign. She might have said something else, but the immediate launch of the girls into a rip-roaring jam had them distracted and mesmerized by their performance. Seven hells! They were _amazing_! And the lead singer’s voice was so powerful, Dany felt the goosebumps break out on her skin as she bellowed her pain into the microphone for the world to hear. It felt as if the pink-haired woman was singing personally to Dany, and even though it was supposed to be rock and roll, it was clearly a song of heartbreak and love lost. Dany had the mindset to take pictures during their act, while making notes on purchasing their music once she gathered more information. And goodness, the colors and energy! Her fingers itched to capture the passion on her canvas someday.

Brienne must have noticed her interest for once the girls where done, and they were about to leave the stage, she gathered them toward the awestruck Dany and introduced them.

They were the apparently “The Silver Dragonettes” – “because we carry the blood of Old Valyria in our veins,” the lead singer – Visenya (go figure) - declared with a smug grin. “We want to remind everyone of how powerful the Targaryens were. They might be gone, but never forgotten.”

Dany could only nod in agreement, not trusting herself to speak. They signed her sketchpad and concert brochure, took a couple of selfies, and not surprising, a couple of the girls – especially the drummer – took a liking to Jon. They might have stuck around trying to flirt with him, but the next band was about to be introduced, and Dany was this close to kicking the girls she had admired just minutes earlier. Jon was still smiling after them before it faltered as he finally noticed Dany’s raised brow.

Fortunately, he was spared her wrath in the form of “The Badlands”, and this time it was Jon’s turn to feel a surge of jealousy as the lead singer – a bare-chested kid with a couple of creative tattoos gracing his arms and back – grinned and winked at Dany a couple of times during their performance. Dany was not immune to the flirtation and for a brief moment, completely forgot Jon existed as the singer crooned for her alone at some point during the show. Damn her legs. Perhaps she might have been called up to stand beside him or something of the sort.  He was quite good-looking –

“Dumb band,” came the muttered but still audible commentary from a grim-faced Jon.

Dany was just about to refute it when she realized why he was acting so grumpy.

_Oooh. Serves him right._

To add salt to his wounds, she welcomed the lead singer’s kiss to her hand and allowed him to sign her brochure and to Jon’s chagrin, her dress! The sneaky bastard was sure to sign just close to her bosom, and they were at such kissing distance, he’d had enough.

“It’s getting late, Dany,” he yelled as the next band began warming up. “We should probably get going…what is that?”

“Oh, this…” She held up the business card with a knowing smile before signing quickly. _Brandon gave me their band’s info. He says they’ll be playing at a nightclub next weekend and he wouldn’t mind seeing me there._

Their gazes clashed; each knowing damn well they were only trying to irritate the other. “Are we really going to do this now?” Jon asked through clenched teeth. “Playing games?”

_I’m not playing games! I was just talking to a perfectly nice guy-_

“Bullshit! He wants to get into your pants-”

_So what?! It’s nice to know someone else wants to! I’ve been having a hard time keeping up with all the women who’ve tried to get in yours today!_

“And you think I haven’t been counting all the goddamn men, and some women, ogling at you all day?”

She snorted. “Do-don’t be ri-ridiculous-”

“Oh yeah? Well newsflash, Dany, I want only my hands and lips and eyes on you at all times!”

A furious blush filled her cheeks and she wondered if he was making fun of her. However, noticing the unapologetic expression on his features, she felt the rush of blood fill her ears and her pulse resume its quickened dance of inner delight at his possessive streak. Capturing her lower lip between her teeth, she reached out to tug his shirt, forcing him closer.

“Sa-same here, Jon Snow,” she yelled into his ear. “I want you all to myself! So take that as you will!”

She punctuated that with a hard kiss that was a continuation of where they had left off before they were rudely interrupted. Luckily, everyone was too busy rocking out to the new band and weren’t paying much attention to the amorous couple. However, when they finally broke apart for air and found themselves now dangerously close to losing coherency, Jon knew it was time to go.

He rose unsteadily to his feet and sought out Tormund, who at first was reluctant to leave until Jon all but yanked his bushy beard to roar in his face.

“We are leaving **now**!”

 

* * *

 

“Good god, man,” Tormund pouted as they trailed after Brienne who was pushing Dany out to the relatively quiet parking lot; if you considered the number of couples making out or smoking illegal substances ‘quiet’.  He was still rubbing his chin, affronted at the unnecessary assault. “You didn’t have to nearly rip out the beard.”

“Sorry,” Jon apologized half-heartedly. “I mean it was fun and all but-”

“You gotta go seal the deal. I get it,” Tormund agreed with a playful waggle of his brows. “Seven hells, you two horny kids were about to rip clothes off on the stage there. Might have made things even more interesting.”

Jon blushed and shook his head. “Shut the fuck up-”

He was stopped as Tormund’s large hands descended on his shoulders, his thick brows drawn together in a rare frown of contemplation.

“Tell me honestly, Jon,” he queried in a low voice, so the ladies couldn’t hear. “She’s the one, right?”

Jon opened his mouth to deny the assumption, but he was rendered speechless as Dany’s familiar breathy giggle floated up to them. Brienne was lifting her off the wheelchair despite her half-hearted protests and seeing that face so aglow from the exhilaration of her experiences, had Jon’s chest tightening with that emotion he had felt the moment he realized his feelings were deeper than he cared to admit.

He hadn’t been kidding when he complained about all the looks of admiration thrown her way all day. He knew he had no right to feel jealous – as there was really no guarantee this whole thing could last - but Dany had been oblivious to the silent wars he had waged with the men who had ogled just a little too long.  However, realizing that she too was just as jealous actually pleased him…and what was that comment she had made back there again?

_“I want you all to myself! So take that as you will!”_

What did she mean? Was she saying that she would no longer share him with other women? That she wanted him to quit his job? That she –

“Yep! That face says it all,” Tormund interrupted his skidding thoughts as he patted Jon’s shoulders. His ruddy features creased with a smile of such fatherly pride, Jon felt like a kid finally getting the approval he had always desperately needed.

“Tormund-”

“I know you don’t like to talk about your work, Jon,” Tormund said quietly as they both watched the women fight with the car door until Brienne had to set Dany on her feet to get it open. “And I kept my end of the bargain by not telling the other fellas about it, but I’m happy for you, kid. I think for the first time since I’ve known you, you don’t have that cloud of gloom and doom following you all over the place.”

Jon was unsure of what to say and settled for shuffling his feet in embarrassment. He found himself unable to look into those knowing blue eyes and burrowed his hands deep into his jeans pockets.

“But I’m figuring you find yourself at a crosswords, Jonno. Think about it long and hard,” Tormund continued with that uncanny ability to seemingly read the younger man’s mind. “Is she worth it or not, hmm?”

He gave Jon’s shoulders one last squeeze before bellowing for Brienne to stop ‘fucking scratching the door to his baby’ despite the truck not exactly being a new model. It had a missing headlight and tended to squeak in protest when making left turns.

“It was nice seeing you two,” Brienne said once they dropped off the couple at the restaurant parking lot. “We should hang out again sometime, hmm?”

“I’d lo-love that,” Dany agreed as Jon helped her into the wheelchair again. “You too, Tormund. You’re both won-wonderful, and thanks for such a wonderful ev-evening.”

Tormund looked like he was about to burst into tears or song, but at the playful jab of his girl’s arm to his ribs, he waved effusively in farewell, promising to share a few beers with Dany very soon before peeling out of the parking lot with a trail of sputtering black smoke in their wake.

“Sorry about him,” Jon apologized as he pushed her toward their car. “He’s-”

“He’s a very good fri-friend,” Dany finished as she tipped her head backwards to look at him. “I’m glad you know him, Jon.”

 _Me too,_ he thought with a sense of relief at her seal of approval at the company he kept. He leaned down to seize her inviting lips in a gentle kiss, earning a lovely blush in return. Soon, with her leading the way, they began to sing the chorus of _Kiss, Kiss, Baby_ – one of The Dragonettes songs – with gusto. Neither seeming to care that they were attracting extra looks from passersby with their rather excellent harmonization, her soaring tenor to his rumbling baritone. Jon even stopped long enough to perform an air-guitar solo while Dany brought it home with a flourish, bowing graciously when she applauded his performance and whistled for an encore.

It wasn’t until they were gliding through the Street of Steel, with the smooth sounds of blues music drifting from car’s speakers, did she finally speak again. Her voice was steady and quiet, without a hint of a stutter.

“I had a wonderful day, Jon. Thank you.”

He felt something hard drop in the pit of his stomach as he glanced her way, wondering why that statement felt so… _final_. She was facing him, almost curled up on the seat, her amethyst gaze unwavering and penetrating. There was no smile on her beautiful features, just a weary content he felt he ought to be proud of. Sadly, all he felt was a gnawing sense of misery at the idea of taking her back to that mansion…to Jorah. The yawning loneliness waiting for him at his apartment was almost too much to bear.

“The day isn’t over yet,” he replied roughly. “I did say I had one more place to show you, didn’t I?”

“And where would that be?”

He swallowed and gripped the steering wheel a bit harder. Clearing his throat, he muttered the words quickly, feeling his cheeks flare with heat at how stupid he probably sounded. Dear gods, what if she said ‘no’-

“What did you say, Jon? I didn’t quite ca-catch that.”

He slid a pained look her way and tried again. “I was just…I mean I wanted to show you my apartment. That’s…all.”

She said nothing for a while causing Jon’s feeling of anxiety to rise. She was going to decline the offer, but then again, with her invitation back there on the bench, what had she been expecting? That he’d rent some hotel room and make out with her there…?

“I guess I sh-should consider myself lucky to be invited to your place,” came the quiet words that weren’t as excited as he had hoped. “Would I be the latest woman to be there? What number am I?”

“Wha-?”

“I will admit I was hoping this entire day would be com-completely unique, and I know I sound petty about it, but…I didn’t like the idea that some other woman had been at the rapids with you. And now… I get to share your living space with the bevy of women-”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down, Dany. What are you talking about?”

“The girl with the tits!” she cried out in exasperation. “You to-took some other cli-client of yours to the We-We-Wendwater, didn’t you?”

“What?” Jon looked and sounded so genuinely confused, Dany was beginning to wonder if she really had misheard the whole thing and was just blowing things out of proportion. If so, she braced herself for his angry tirade and hoped he would forgive her erroneous assumptions.

“Did-didn’t you take a client to Wendwater?” she asked carefully. “I co-could have sworn Tormo had said-”

Jon groaned and ran a hand through his hair. “Is that what you’re still hung up on?”

“I am not hu-hung up on…!”

“Yes,” he interrupted with a light frown. “Yes, I was there with another woman, but she was the one who introduced me to the place. I had never heard of Wendwater before, and she’s an adrenaline junkie who recommended we give it a try. From that moment, I fell in love with the place. It was the only time we went there together, and I’ve never taken any of my clients there. I just figured I’d get to share something I loved with you and had no idea you’d be this upset over it.”

She worried her lower lip and cursed inwardly at her behavior. Jon sighed and shook his head.

“Also, you’ll be the first.”

She blinked and cocked her head to the side in confusion. “The…first?”

“The only woman I’ve brought over to my apartment,” he explained quietly without looking at her. “I don’t bring my clients to my personal space and never intend to. However, if you’d rather we check into a hotel…”

She was already shaking her head before he could finish. She placed a hand on his forearm, and when he finally looked her way, she signed her apologies for being so ‘bratty’ earlier. His lips twitched in a small smile as he plucked off her hand to place a light kiss on it.

“I apologize if I gave you any impression I was simply recycling my dates,” Jon stated softly. “Trust me, I really wanted this to be different. You’re not like the other women, Dany. I hope you realize that.”

When he looked at her this time, she wasn’t sure if it was the play of the lights from the street lamps or the dials on the dashboard, but those grey eyes were filled with a heat she would be blind not to notice. She squirmed in her seat and lowered her lashes.

She was _special_ to him, that much was obvious now. For him to show her his private abode was a huge step in their relationship, and she fervently hoped she wasn’t reading too much into it. She did ‘ooh’ at the sight of the tall white gates that opened as his flashed his ID at the machine to let them into the estate. The gated community, with its winding streets and similar condominiums was confusing to her, but Jon was able to weave his way effortlessly through the quiet neighborhood and toward his building. He explained, as he parked the car in an available space in the lot, that his garage had his other two cars and since this was a rental he had to park outside. He sincerely hoped she didn’t mind.

As if she cared about such a trivial matter. She was just too excited to see his home and said as much as he prepared to remove the wheelchair.

“Leave it,” she ordered causing him to raise a brow in surprise. As if to prove her point, she swung her legs out of the car and taking a deep breath, rose carefully to her feet, though holding onto the door to steady herself.

“Dany…” Jon began as he all but dashed to her side. She waved him off as he attempted to hold onto her and took a tentative step forward on her own.

 _Besides, if I fall flat on my face, you can help pick up the pieces,_ _Jon Snow,_ she signed.

She smirked at his adorable expression of confusion, for he wasn’t sure if she was joking or not. She waited for him to get their things together, before following his lead toward the glass doors. He was patient as she took her time getting her feet to do its natural task, only faltering when she had to climb the short flight of steps. Luckily, it was almost midnight, and except for the smiling uniformed security man – who merely tipped his hat in greeting - they could have been the only living beings on earth.

Once in the warm cocoon of the elevator, she sighed in relief and leaned against the sturdy mahogany rail, her curiosity now piqued at the art nouveau décor of its interior. It was akin to the elevator at the mansion, but while that was more traditional, this held traces of contemporary elements especially with the way the stained glass ceiling formed a pyramid of sorts –

A sudden single knock against the paneling forced her attention to the man leaning casually against the wall just opposite her.

 _What are you thinking of now?_ he signed, his lips curving into a small smile to match the glint of mischief within those magnetic grey eyes of his.

Her bags and their jackets had been discarded in a corner of the tiny space, and as she gripped the edge of the railing, she was painfully made aware of just how…well _intimate_ this all was.

What was she _thinking_ of now? Did he _really_ want to know?

She struggled to gather moisture in her mouth, straining to look at anything but the perfect physique she’d had the pleasure of touching all day. Unaware of doing this, she writhed sensuously against the wall, a tongue darting out to lick her lips as smoldering heat flared through her being. The recollection of her antics at the restaurant came flooding back with unrepentant clarity.

 _How unlike me,_ she thought as she shyly tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and took a deep breath. _I was acting so wanton._

Yet she craved him with a hunger that was near petrifying. He was _changing_ her, making her embrace this deep-seeded audacious side she’d always been too shy to reveal lest anyone think less of her. Years spent in secret gratification, from her youth – locked in her bedroom as she felt the ‘weirdness’ of touching herself, her unfortunate contacts with members of the opposite sex, still not enough to deter that inherent desire to explore all possibilities when it came to the pleasures her body was capable of receiving. And _this_ man…this northern bastard, she was losing her heart to, was doing his damn best to fulfill that quest.

How could she possibly resist?

His folded arms gave the aura of casual indifference, but she could sense his burgeoning awareness of the situation, could hear his breathing pattern change, the gradual thickening of a tension only physical contact could diminish. She had lowered her gaze to the floor as if no longer unable to look at him. However, when she made the ‘mistake’ of looking up again, he let out something akin to a growl and finally _moved_.

With a hand slamming against the buttons effectively freezing the elevator in place, and the other reaching for her waist to pull her flush to him until nothing separated them but their very ragged hot breaths, Jon Snow was a caged beast just begging to be unleashed.

“Wh-what are you do-doing?” she whispered in horrified excitement even as her fingers were already clutching fistfuls of his shirt. Her legs quivered with helpless anticipation, but Jon – all smoldering gaze and fiery determination etched upon his flushed features – was quick to rectify that little problem.

Sealing her lips with a kiss that left no doubt as to what his intentions were, he slid his hands down her hips to cup her buttocks. A light…then firmer squeeze of those twin globes had her whimpering and wrapping her legs tentatively around his hips while kicking off her shoes. Their lips seemed desperate to swallow the other whole as she was pushed hard against the wall in their frenzied need to finally quench the inferno that’s been simmering beneath the surface all day long.

Pain be damned for now. She was in flames.

“Oh, Jon,” she moaned, his name a prayerful mantra from her lips. Her fingers slid into the silky strands of his hair and tugged at the roots, her breath coming out in harsh gasps as she helped his efforts to gain access to her leggings by lifting her hips – not that the subsequent ripping sound helped much. His impatience had him cursing and a helpless giggle escaping her lips as they finally broke apart to catch their breaths.

“We’re going to have to work on you wearing less clothing around me,” he murmured against her neck as he tugged the irritating piece of clothing down one leg and then the other until the tattered remains fell like oversized confetti to the floor where it was unceremoniously kicked aside.

She might have whispered something about him only being completely nude around her when the words were completely stolen from her lips as she felt the familiar nudge of his very erect and throbbing cock against the wet lips of her center. He wasn’t even bothering to take off her panties, an act she considered even sexier and filthier.

She sank her teeth into his right shoulder, shuddering as he thrust into the welcome heat…slowly…steady until he was buried so deep, she was sure she could feel his very soul intertwining with hers. She was acutely aware of how different it felt this time, the realization that he was without protection and the raw feel of his cock caressing her inner walls was unlike anything she had ever experienced. She welcomed it with a tightening of her legs, pulling him deeper still; a succubus greedy for the one thing to satisfy this unquenchable desire raging within.

His guttural ‘fuck yes’ made her weak, and as he held on tight to her ass, he began to move again – faster, deeper – picking up the pace while whispering heated words of passion against her flushed neck; arched now as she stared blindly at the pyramid shaped ceiling, absentminded thoughts of design layouts and artistic interpretations swirling with the stomach churning surge of pleasure to creep up her toes and up to every strand of hair on her head.

_yesyesyesyesyesohgodsyes_

She hadn’t realized how much she missed him like this; in this most sinful communion being committed in such a public space. The security guard might want to figure out why the elevator had stopped. There might be someone returning home late as well, confused as to why the damn thing wasn’t moving. There was the likelihood the emergency telephone would go off and then –

“Oh dear gods,” she panted and seized his swollen lips; all thoughts of rational concerns dissolving into nothingness as his thrusts grew in intensity. She was sure there’d be bruises against her hips and ass tomorrow, since she was being slammed against the railing with every pounding, but right now…at this very minute…

“Don’tstopdon’tstopdon’tyoufuckingstop,” was all she could demand in a fevered whisper as she clung on to ride through the crest of overpowering pleasure that made her world go a fine shade of black for a heart stopping second. When she came, it was with a low sound she could not define if asked. Her entire being jerked hard against his, nearly sending them to the floor if not for his steady grip. He seemed to ride the wave with her, his simple growled command to –

“Come for me, Dany.”

…being the final trigger to her inevitable completion. She was doing a great impression of molten molasses in his arms now, a complete sagging mess of –

_Oh no…_

He swelled within her until the illusion of nearly being ripped apart by his girth made her mewl with delight. It was his turn to come and his final remorseless thrust trigged another orgasm she was hardly ready for. His seed was warm and slick as it coated her most private of caverns. Subconsciously, she waited for that feeling of disgust as it slowly trickled down her inner thigh, yet all she could feel was pride and satisfaction at the final culmination of their coupling. With a choked sob, she cradled his face to hers, the rough bristles of his beard causing a friction she would probably regret come morning. She kissed every inch of his visage as they struggled to steady rapid heartbeats, and when the earth finally stopped spinning, she caught his lower lip between her teeth in a gentle tug before soothing the pain with a lingering suckle.

“Ooouch…my back hurts, you barbarian,” she whined against the crook of his neck. Though the taste of his flesh – a concoction of sea and smoke - was turning out to be another aphrodisiac in itself. She licked and bit at his most vulnerable spot causing him to tremble in response.

“Says the woman who started all of this,” he replied with a lazy chuckle amidst a helpless groan. He kneaded her ass and gave it a firm slap, earning another shudder and low moan of pleasure from her.

“No, I didn’t,” she whimpered in protest, though she had to fight back a wince as he withdrew slowly. Damn it. She was already missing its presence within her. “I did not-”

“Who was it that said, ‘I want you now’, hmm?” Jon smirked as he caught her pout in a hard kiss before slowly lowering her feet to the floor. “Wish granted, sweetheart.”

“In your elevator though?” she argued with a raised brow. “We co-could have been caught, Jon. Oh fu-fuck! There mi-might be ca-cameras!” And if there were, they were definitely well hidden.

“Something tells me you wouldn’t have minded one bit, Miss Storm,” he replied with a laugh. “Careful now. Your exhibitionist streak is showing.”

She blushed furiously at that and prepared to debate that observation when he fell to his knees and motioned for her to raise her leg. Leaning against the wall again - for it was a miracle they were still managing to hold her up this long - she obeyed his command, smiling as she placed a foot on his shoulder to give him a much better view of her cunt still dripping with his seed and swollen from his punishing thrusts. His low groan, as he seemed to inhale her musk, had her stiffening in readiness to be taken again, but she was sadly denied the pleasure as he finished with a frustrated growl while tugging down her dress. He tossed the used leggings aside, and a part of her mourned at almost eighty gold dragons wasted on that thing.

Once he was zipped up and relatively presentable, he made a face at the holes she had created on his shirt, while punching the buttons of the elevator to get it moving again.

“You owe me a new shirt, young lady,” he teased.

“You owe me new leggings,” she countered. “Do you have any idea how much that cost me…mmphff!”

He silenced her potential rambling with another searing kiss, his hands cradling her cheeks as she helplessly responded just as passionately. She might have melted into him, or begged for another round, when the doors finally slid open to remind them of just where they were.

“Home sweet home,” he whispered against her lips. With a final peck, he grabbed their belongings, but surprised her again – this time earning a loud yelp of delight – as he lifted her in his arms to step into the lobby.

“Jooon! Pu-put me down!”

Ignoring her giggly request, he began humming a popular show tune beneath his breath and spun them around the foyer a few times. Dany kept her arms tight around his neck, her breathless laugh and non-venomous ‘stop being silly, Jon’, not deterring him in the slightest. With a grin, he finally stopped at the front door and lowered her feet to the floor, but just long enough to slide his card through the device before sweeping her back into his arms and into his private kingdom.

Call him a hopeless romantic, but he had always imagined he’d bring the woman of his dreams into his home like this someday. Who knew it would happen this fast? Of course there was the nagging worry that she wouldn’t approve of the place, and he had done his best to tidy up in preparation for her visit. However, as he stepped into his familiar lobby, he winced inwardly at how antiseptic and spartan it appeared. Compared to the warm, lived-in furniture at Dany’s mansion, his place looked as if he had just bought it _yesterday_. It felt chilly and detached from human connection for some reason, and to his alarm, he was sure she would ha-

“This is am-amazing! Are you kidding me?” came the awed gasp that shattered all his concerns in one fell swoop. Her eyes were like saucers; the unfeigned delight on her features making him want to kiss the interior designer…whoever that was. “All this for yo-you? And th-there’s even an up-upstairs?”

“A studio slash loft slash…who the fuck knows?” Jon said with a laugh as he set her on her feet. “Ghost likes to run around there and Arya…well I have no idea what she does up there, but it’s just extra space…great view though.”

And as if eager to impress her, he headed toward the drawn blinds, where with the push of a button against the wall, they slid open soundlessly to reveal the glittering lights of the city below and Blackwater Bay beyond. Her breath caught at the sight, and the need to get closer to the window overwhelmed her. Pushing herself away from the sofa, she began walking toward him cautiously, a shy smile coming to her visage as he simply encouraged her with a warm smile and crook of his hand. Her leg muscles were beginning to ache from all the exertions she’d put them through today, but rather than complain, she was determined to get to him without so much as a grimace.

_Almost…there…_

“That’s my girl,” he praised when she finally fell into his arms with a sigh of gratitude. She buried her flushed face against his chest, smiling into the warmth of his shirt as he held her close and placed a hard kiss on her head. “I’m so proud of you,” he murmured thickly as if struggling to hold back his emotions.

 _Iwon’tcryIwon’tcryIwon’tfuckingcry,_ she thought feverishly despite the sting forming at the back of her eyes. If she had always felt trepidation at attending those physical therapy classes before, just hearing those words from Jon strengthened her resolve to get through them no matter how agonizing the sessions were. She wanted to be able to run to him, to jump into his arms, to take long walks to the ends of the earth if possible…if only to hear him say those words over and over again.

She felt him move as if reaching for something to his left, and as the lights of the apartment dimmed, there was a low clicking sound from behind her, soon followed by the familiar opening notes to _Streets of Love_ , one of her favorite songs from a classic movie.

_Oh my…_

Realizing that Jon _still_ remembered the movies they had watched together when she was ‘hidden’ from him, or that he had just simply been attentive enough, caused the tears to finally break free. Why did he have to be this…perfect? He had made today mostly about her, and despite her jealous trepidations, had chosen to share a hobby of his _with her_. He knew her love for castles and history, which was why they had gone to Hayford, and then there was the visit to the theater, and even though the indie rock concert had been an unplanned surprise, he had not complained at the change in plans and had allowed her to enjoy the experience.

 _Thank you so much,_ she thought with a low sniffle. _Words just seem so inadequate sometimes…they hardly convey just how much I feel when it comes to you, Jon Snow. I love you so much, and as naïve and silly I might be to feel this way, I can’t help it._

For her unspoken declaration, she received another tender kiss on her forehead. However, when they had begun moving in time to the song, she had no idea, but there it was. Their gentle swaying motion together was proof that she was actually… _dancing_. It was by no means a fast song, and the swelling strings was meant for lovers realizing what was so inevitable. Her feet were shuffling ever so slowly, these twin alien beings trying to establish a rhythm she had thought long forgotten. She blushed as she pulled away a little to stare at them, before looking up with wet eyes at the man smiling at her with an expression that made breathing slightly difficult.

“Not bad, Dany,” he whispered at her silent query. “You are doing great. Now, just hold on to my hand here like so…”

She did as told, following his instructions until his left arm was wrapped snugly around her waist, her right hand was on his shoulder, and their free hands were clasped as one. She tried not to roll her eyes at how particular he was being with their positioning and was ready to remind him that she did _know_ the rudiments of dancing, but she was just so happy at how thoughtful he was being to be that picky. When he was finally sure she wouldn’t trip over her own feet, he began to lead the way, moving them carefully along the floor-to-ceiling windows to create the illusion they were dancing high above King’s Landing.

It was a heady sensation and if she didn’t look out the window for too long, she wouldn’t feel as if she was bound to fall several hundred feet to her imminent death. Besides, what did all that matter? She – Daenerys Stormborn – was actually _dancing_ again, and before she could control it, her tears became a hiccupped laugh of delight.

“Ready for it?” he teased as he grinned and pulled away, but just far enough to lift her arm above her head so she could twirl slowly for him. “Wonderful, my lady! You’re a natural!”

She blushed and laughed against his chest; not sure if this was all just a dream. Maybe if she pinched herself she’d be back in Vaes Dothrak praying for the cold claws of death to take her away. Yet, as she heard and felt the pounding of his heartbeat beneath the cotton strands of his shirt, she closed her eyes and knew this was a dream she wanted to last for as long as she lived.

She released her hand from his, but only to wrap her arms around his waist and to whisper her selfish _need_ for him.

He accepted with a brush of his lips against her temple…down to her left cheek to taste the salt of her tears…and finally to lips that blossomed willingly for him. They savored each other in hungry silence, bodies straining to become one again until her knees buckled in resignation. This time, when he swept her into his arms, she would continue her assault on his person, her lips clamoring for any bit of flesh they could find as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

She barely heard him kick the door to his bedroom shut but would reluctantly release him when he suggested they clean up first. From their activities at the rapids to the elevator shenanigans, and as much as he would still love her taste in whatever form, they deserved a good soak or scrub down at least. She agreed and made a face at her stained dress…still with Brandon’s signature. Smiling at the memory, she figured she might never wash it again. When his band became huge, it was definitely going to be a collectible.

Jon still didn’t think much of it. Ignoring his suggestion to burn it, she laughed at his pouty expression and sat obediently on the bed as he took off the rest of her clothing.

“I don’t have a bath stool,” he continued quietly; his hands and voice almost reverent as he slid the cotton panties down her legs, while she unhooked her bra. “So, give me a minute to set up the bath, all right? We’ll have to forgo a quick shower.”

“Wha-whatever you want, Jon,” she replied demurely, blushing as he seemed to devour her with an expression that she could not truly fathom. Neither did she really want to for no man had ever looked at her this way; not with the usual feral hunger of blatant lust, but a look that begged for her not to question this ‘thing’ brewing between them. This ‘thing’ that had a name they were both still afraid to truly address in the open.

His kiss, however, was something else entirely; not as frenzied as the others, but languid enough to send a message that there was no way in hell he was planning on letting her go tonight. Jorah and his curfew be damned. He would suffer whatever wrath came his way once they returned.

They broke apart with synchronized breaths that shuddered at the enormity of the moment, eyes still closed as their foreheads met.

 _Damn it._ He had to get up or else…

“I-I’ll be right back,” he breathed, lifted his lashes, and bolted before his libido could tell him otherwise.

He would miss the lingering look of appreciation that trailed after him, his thoughts completely focused on not fucking up something as simple as a bubble bath. For a moment, he stared glumly at the tub; something he rarely used. Hell, he wasn’t even sure he’d used the darn thing at all. It was large enough to fit four people and had enough gadgets and gizmos to turn it into a jacuzzi if he wanted. Settling for a simple bath, he turned on the faucets and began filling it up.

“Towels, towels,” he whispered as he dashed to the built-in closet to pull out at least ten large white ones, which he placed in what he hoped was an accessible enough location. He had no fancy candles to create an amorous ambience, the only thing close enough to romantic being a bottle of feminine body wash that probably belonged to Arya…which could only mean that his darn sister must have been taking her baths in here when he was away! It wasn’t as if she didn’t have a tub in her room. Seven hells.

Tossing the bottle into the trash, he set up his own bath oils and soap, hoping the smells weren’t too overpowering for Dany. It wasn’t until the soap suds rose so high they were about to overflow the tub, did he realize he had; one, poured in too much, and two, needed to shut the damn faucet off.

“I’m going to mess this up so bad,” he groaned and wiped his hands nervously down his pants.

He wasn’t sure if it was the fact that there was a female sharing his personal space at last, or it was the one female he was determined to impress despite his show of bravado and machismo earlier. They had finally given in to their passions, and all that was left was to relax – maybe do it one last time in the tub – and then sleep their weariness away. It had been a long day after all, and they would need to get some rest sooner or later, right? He took a deep breath once satisfied with the set-up.

_Right then._

“It’s ready,” he began with a light cough, while trying not to look too sheepish as he made his way back into the dimly lit bedroom. “Sorry if the scents aren’t too your liking, I didn’t exactly plan ah…”

The words faltered as he finally noticed that she wasn’t paying attention to a damn thing he was saying, and for good reason. She was curled up in the middle of his bed, completely nude with her hair undone from their braids to lay in thick curly strands over her face and arm, dead to the world.

_Go figure._

Chuckling softly at the wonderful irony, he shook his head and leaned against the bathroom door, hands tucked into his jeans as he studied his amazing nymph in repose. With the faint glow of the street lamps slipping through the blinds, she really did look like something out of the pages of a fantasy; a woman simply not of this earth.

 _And she chose to be with a guy like me,_ he mused incredulously while struggling to swallow the sudden hard lump to fill his throat. _I’m in love with a woman I’m not supposed to have._

With an effort, he pushed himself away from the doorway and moved closer to the bed. He cleared away her undergarments and dress, folding them neatly and placing them on a chair. Pulling down the covers and fluffing up a couple of pillows, he would eventually lift her into his arms again – and dear gods how light she felt – and carefully tuck her beneath them. The poor thing was so exhausted, she didn’t even stir or acknowledge being moved from one place to another.

Who could blame her? Today must have been a whirlwind for a woman sheltered for most of her life. She had managed to cram in so much in such a short period of time, it was a miracle she hadn’t begged to be let off earlier than expected. One really couldn’t help admiring her resolve and determination to make the most of such an opportunity, and Jon honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d had this much fun with anyone not named Arya Stark. Pity he hadn’t really captured a lot of photos of her with his phone, but why bother with the device when his memory would forever be etched with every single moment spent in her presence?

Besides, she was definitely going to be forwarding the pictures she did take to him anyway.

After a quick shower, he couldn’t climb into his once lonely bed fast enough to be with her. He drew the comforter over their naked bodies before pulling her closer to him. At last, she stirred and seemed to respond his presence, turning over to burrow snugly against him as if hoping she could mold her shape to his. Her steady soft breathes tickled his chest, causing his lips to curve in a smile at the sensation.

He placed a tender kiss on her forehead and absently traced lazy circles around her shoulders and back, his hooded gaze drinking every inch of her features as if afraid she’d disappear if he dared close his eyes. There was so much he wanted to say to her, so many more things he needed to share, and if her ‘warning’ at the concert was any indication, Jon knew it was time to consider a few choices in his life.

After all Tormund’s question was enough to seal the deal for him.

_Was she worth it?_

Damn right she was.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	13. Rain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we turn the pages; the beginning to the end...
> 
> Enjoy, my lovelies, and as always your feedback and encouragement are more than appreciated. *bows gratefully*

_Thanks as always to the wonderful[Anitah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anitah/profile) for the moodboard! _

 

* * *

 

Sunday dawned with the promise of rain.

A melancholy sky, with pregnant slate clouds, hovered over the city as the red coupe wound its way down the driveway. She let herself out of the car to the cheerful cacophony of barks within the familiar domain, a chilly southeastern breeze ruffling the flaps of her coat in greeting. She took a moment to inhale the crisp scent of dewy grass and sentinels before jogging up the short flight of steps and into the welcoming warmth of the foyer.

“Hellooo, you beauties. How are you this morning?” she hailed as she stooped to her haunches and received the most enthusiastic licks, nuzzles, and rubs from the trio of excited canines. She suffered their affection with a laugh, trying not to get knocked over as each tried to outdo the other. She was in the process of stroking Viserion’s stomach, when the sudden gruff words forced her to look up.

“You’re here early.”

It was Jorah, which shouldn’t have been a surprise. What _was_ a surprise was seeing him still clad in the clothes he had worn yesterday; a pastel blue polo shirt and khaki pants, both wrinkled as if he had slept in them. As proof, the dark shadows and circles around his eyes was a clear indication that sleep must have been elusive last night. The near-empty bottle of beer, dangling from his left hand, might have been a dead giveaway coupled with the unmistakable waft of alcohol that seemed to envelop him like a cloak.

 _What in the world’s wrong with him?_ Missandei mused as she rose to her feet. Yet even as she asked that, deep down she was cognizant of the likely cause of his need to drown himself in his misery.

Dany had failed to come home last night, and it was killing him.

Missandei knew how reluctant he’d been to let Dany come to Westeros in the first place, but he would eventually come around to the premise of being away from his ‘precious’ Dany for that long. This attitude, on the other hand, was a little extreme, wasn’t it? She’d only been gone for about a day compared to their three-month separation, so why act this way? Was it all because of the new man in Dany’s life; a younger, dangerously handsome, and age-appropriate companion now threatening Jorah's significance in her life?

“I wanted to take the dogs out for a morning walk,” Missandei finally said aloud with a listless smile. Jorah looked like hell, and his distracted grunt as his gaze drifted toward the drawn windows, told the story. She might have been just another furniture in the room for all he cared.

Even the dogs -ever astute – seemed to steer clear away from the man. If she wasn’t mistaken, Drogon might have growled or was at least emitting vibes of discomfort as he paced around Missandei, now impatient to be let out with his brothers for their new fun activity. Getting hugs and head rubs from their curious and fun neighbors was better than hanging around the dour mood within the mansion. Besides, they missed their mother and wondered where she was.

“Did she call you?” came the deceptively calm query as Jorah finally flickered a dark glance in her direction.

Missandei shook her head. “No…but I’m sure she’s fin-”

“He promised to bring her back yesterday,” Jorah interrupted, his lips quirking into a cruel smile. “He lied.”

“They are adults, Jorah,” she countered as calmly as she could manage. “They shouldn’t be-”

“He’s a Stark…or at least an offspring of that cursed family,” came the rude retort. “Aren’t they supposed to be men of their word? You saw him yesterday, didn’t you? How-how he stood there and vowed to make sure she was returned safe and sound-”

“Yes, but-”

“But he _lied_. He did not keep his promise, and she’s probably-”

He couldn’t finish his sentence, his features contorting into a mask of pain and anger that had Missandei taking a wary step back. This time all three dogs growled low beneath their breaths as they seemed to sense the uneasy tension in the air. They surrounded Missandei in a subconsicous protective circle, and Jorah – who had taken a staggered step forward – stopped long enough to smirk at the four-legged guards.

“They were no fun last night,” he drawled as he pointed the bottle at Drogon. “Whining incessantly like petulant children because their dear mother was not around. I had a damn good mind to call animal control just to teach…”

He stopped his rambling as he noticed the expression of shock and gradual fury on the Naathi’s features. He chuckled and shrugged. “Forgive my words. I meant it as a joke.”

“That’s a very bad one,” Missandei replied with ice dripped into every word. “If you dare harm a hair on their heads just so you could punish her-”

“No, no, no,” Jorah replied with a wave of his hand. He shrugged again and began shuffling toward the kitchen. “I would never do that to Daenerys. I know how much they mean to her. It was my gift to her, remember? Her so-called date on the other hand…” He snorted in derision as if the very thought of Jon Snow made him sick to his stomach. “He might need a little talking to.”

“They are free to do what they want,” Missandei reminded him. “They are not children.”

“Then they need to stop acting like one!” Jorah flared, the sudden loud clash of the beer bottle striking the wall causing both Missandei and the dogs to let out sounds of surprise. She stared numbly at the spreading star-shaped stain left behind and randomly wished that one of the shattered glass would prick his bare foot to make him bleed to death. All the same, the situation was getting too dangerous, and she had to get out here as quickly as possible. With the dogs if she could manage it.

“I’ll call her,” she stated, hating the slight tremble in her voice. “Is that what you want? You want me to tell her to call you?”

Jorah gave a short bark of bitter laughter. “I’ve tried, and she’s either ignoring me or her phone is off. Either way…if they aren’t back by midday…I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

With that, he pushed open the door to the kitchen so hard that it slammed against the wall setting some of the furnishings rattling in protest. Drogon’s growl was louder now, and as Missandei hurriedly applied their leashes around their necks, all she could think about was calling up Dany to warn her of what was in store. She hadn’t bothered checking up on her best friend because she was sure Dany would be the first to call her if anything had gone awry. She was not naïve to assume that the couple hadn’t spent the night together, and there was no way she was going to butt into their affairs. Jorah was acting like a spoiled brat – the irony of it all – and she had no idea what he would do to Jon, but that was a situation out of her hands at this time.

“Come on, boys,” she whispered as she quietly led them out of the house. She could keep them with her until Dany returned, and it wasn’t until she had secured them in the backseat, all but sped out of the estate and was on the boulevard did she finally give in to the fear she’d managed to hold at bay during the brief exchange.

It took a lot to get her to cry for anything, but as the tears fell steadily, she prayed that Dany would be the one to put an end to all of this once and for all. No matter how hard a task it was going to be, she was the only one who could slam the door shut to this burgeoning dark chapter of their lives.

For as much as it pained her to admit this, the Jorah they both thought they knew, was nothing more than an illusion of their own making.

 

 

* * *

 

  
She cradled the mug of hot chocolate between her hands as she watched him move around the kitchen clad in only a pair of black sweatpants that hung low on his hips.

_mmmmm…yum indeed_

The mouth-watering smells of blueberry pancakes permeated the air, and as she swung her legs slowly back and forth from her perch on the marbled countertop, she shamelessly ogled the rippling cords of his back and shoulder muscles as he prepared their very late breakfast. She felt the surge of heat fill her cheeks as she noticed the faint red marks to otherwise mar the slightly bronzed flesh. Her over enthusiastic clawing of his back as he took her twice earlier this morning, forced her legs to cross and fight against the flood of warmth threatening to pool between them.

Considering she was wearing nothing but one of his tee-shirts; a washed out gray number with a little rip around the neckline, she feared she might leave wet puddles behind if she dared get off this perch. Hell, she was sure her musk was thick enough to give off the signals that she still wanted more than a real meal. She could eat him alive if he so wanted, but that would make her cannibal and it was –

“You really do need to stop thinking so hard…or having weird thoughts,” came the low drawl of amusement to jerk her away from her errant musings. There was a smirk on his visage that made her blush a thousand shades darker. “Your face gets this adorable confused expression on it when you’re trying to figure something out.”

She raised the mug to her lips and mumbled her response, and as he was in the process of flipping the pancakes out of the pan and into their plates, he raised a brow. “What was that?”

“No-nothing,” she replied a bit louder, nearly choking on the drink as it went down the wrong way.

“I heard ‘eating’,” Jon said with a chuckle. “And the pancakes are ready. Just need to make sure the omelet's ready and then we’re all set. Besides, I still don’t appreciate you not letting me bring it to you in bed-”

“Yo-you did that la-last time,” she reminded him with a warm smile at the memory of their weekend at the mansion. “I wan-wanted to watch you thi-this time.”

It was his turn to blush and he cleared his throat and turned off the burner. “Yeah, well next time you wake me up with kisses down my chest…”

He grinned and walked up to her, leaning closer until their noses touched and he could see the flecks of gold within her striking violet eyes. His heart skipped a beat – the one thousandth time it had probably done that since this date started -

“…I won’t be responsible for my actions,” he finished with a husky whisper that she inhaled through waiting parted lips until his tongue slipped past them and took what was his.

She tasted of warm cocoa and sugar; of succulent promises and untamed desires he had stoked to perfection several times over. It was only meant to be a quick kiss, one to remind her of how much he appreciated her daring and boldness in being willing to explore all possibilities when it came to their lovemaking. However, as she carefully put down her mug, reached up to cradle his cheeks to hold him in place, while moaning deep into his mouth, Jon knew it was a lost cause keeping things chaste at this point.

It was one thing to be awakened by the delightful sensation of warm lips upon his neck and chest, it was a whole other thing to hear her stammered confession of never having actually touched a penis before. He was sure she had done that at the mansion and tried to remind her of it (no matter how brief it had been), but all coherent thought evaporated at the sensation of those trembling hands wrapping around his helpless arousal.

Patiently, and with as much restraint as he could muster, he taught her ways to get him to the breaking point, encouraging her tentative strokes and stuttered apologies whenever he hissed, while hastily assuring her that he wasn’t actually in pain. He coached her on just how much to squeeze his balls or his cock whenever he was about to come as to prolong the pleasure, a skill she was quick to adapt to much to his dismay. He came almost too soon after she ‘got-the-hang-of-it’ and through his haze of delirious ecstasy, her genuine proud expression was almost enough to have him tossing her onto her back and fucking her into the mattress until she couldn’t walk for a week.

However, if he thought she was through with him, it was only the beginning of her lessons. The next go-around, she was willing to take it to the next level, surprising him by sliding down his body and placing soft kisses around an organ she was now in control of. He didn’t even bother saying a word, simply flopping back to the pillows, closing his eyes and praying to the gods that he didn’t explode as fast as before. The soft abrasion of her tongue lapping around his cock – over and over and over again until the entire length eventually fit (just enough) into the heat of her mouth - had him digging his palms into the sheets. Slowly, carefully, he thrust into her mouth, helping her get adjusted to his girth until the wet sucking sounds and moans of her pleasure drove him over the edge.

It wasn’t the first time he had come into the mouth of a female, but for some reason he felt incredibly shy doing something that depraved to Dany. He had tried to withdraw, but was doubly embarrassed, pleased, and even hornier as he watched her stubbornly hold on; accepting his essence greedily until he sagged in weary satiation. This time, when she sat up – looking ever so delightfully sexy in her name day suit – she would dart out a tongue to lick away the trail of his seed from the corner of her lips; sparkling violet eyes wide with giddy accomplishment at what she had achieved.

Payback was going to be so worth it.

“Jo-Jon,” her breathless sigh would melt into his very pores as his lips found the crook of her neck and latched onto the sensitive region, while rudely spreading her legs as far apart as he could manage to. She arched to give him more access to her flesh, her breathing shallow and rough as his steady, strong hands slid up her thighs and toward the wafting heat just waiting to be explored between them.

Her loud gasp as his fingers found their target nearly bucked her off her perch. She whimpered and dug her fingers into his shoulders, eyes squeezed shut as his thumb caressed the sensitive folds already damp with her arousal. It was easy to slide in two fingers at a time, a smile on his lips as he plunged relentlessly and explored a cavern he couldn’t wait to be buried in again. Through the familiar cotton of his shirt, he found the jutting nub of her right nipple and with a low growl captured it between his teeth; the cloth eventually getting wet enough for him to feel the sensitive flesh upon his tongue.

Her clit was a stiff jewel against his thumb with every expertised rub, and as he felt her inner walls tightening around his fingers, he knew he had to seize the moment before it was too late. With a loud wet smack of his lips, he released her swollen teat to stoop to his haunches, withdrawing his soaked fingers and suffering her low cry of protest, but only to grip her legs and raise them just a bit higher to give him all the room and view to the best breakfast a man could get. Dear gods, but she was ready for him; glistening and throbbing enough for him to feast for as long as he liked.

“You are a goddess, Dany,” he groaned as he dove in, arms wrapping around her thighs to control the hard shudder to race through them as his tongue lavished worship on a clit that thrummed with a million shocked nerve endings. She easily pooled around his lips and bearded chin, her overwhelming musky scent inhaled with selfish greed as he sucked harder still. He could barely hear her soft cries, though the tugging of his hair had him slightly concerned she might leave him with bald spots if she kept at it.

Still, it wasn’t enough to deter him from his quest to drive her insane, smiling against the darkened rose-hued puckered flesh that were doorways to her most innermost secrets. He licked them in reverence, before thrusting rudely between with his tongue to discover more of what she had to offer. It was all he could do to keep her balanced on the countertop at this point, and the tightening of her legs around his shoulders was all the encouragement he needed to take her home.

“You…taste…like…heaven,” he murmured with every intermittent thrust, and just when he felt the first waves of her orgasm approaching; the telltale heaving of her torso, the uneven breathing, the resorting to High Valyrian when the Common Tongue failed her, he caught her clit between his lips again and suckled her hard enough to elicit the loudest cry yet in response. He held on tight and crested through the first wave with her, slowing down long enough for her to catch her breath before repeating the motion again. Her second spasmed response was not as intense but was enough to show that she was happily spent as she sagged upon his shoulders with a choked sob. Her juices – tangy and warm – dripped a little down his chin and as he rose up to claim her lips in a near-bruising kiss, she was given the opportunity to taste herself and to ravish his mouth in fervent gratitude.

“I ha-hate you so mu-much,” she would whisper drunkenly into his ear when they finally broke apart to get some air.

He laughed softly, placing tender kisses all over her flushed features. “I told you I’d pay you back for what you did earlier. So…we’re even.”

…until someone’s stomach growled.

“Hmm...as tempting as it is to turn you over this counter and finish this...we should probably eat some real food now, huh?” Jon suggested with a louder laugh as he ducked from Dany’s attempt to swat his arm…only to narrowly miss being beheaded by an incoming banana plucked from the fruit basket behind her.

“Damn it, Dany! Cut that ou…hey!” he tried to complain but dodged from the orange now flung in his direction. Nearly choking on his laughter, he grabbed the nearest ‘weapon’ he could find – a bottle of maple syrup - and began squirting it her way.

“Jooon! Stoooop!”

Her breathless giggles as she gave up on the fruit, waved her hands in pitiful protection, and begged for forgiveness, would be the perfect conclusion to a morning that was already turning out to be the best she’d ever had.

 

* * *

 

  
An eternity of an hour later - after they had a quick bath to get rid of the stickiness, where he failed to keep his promise and did take her one more time – she and Jon were on the balcony finishing up his real breakfast. She was in another of his shirts, her knees drawn up to her chest as she sipped on another mug of cocoa, and so wonderfully sore from all the 'activity', she was glad she had the use of a wheelchair for movement.

Besides, if there was the fear that anyone else could have a view of her panties-less state, she couldn’t care less. She was too happy and content to focus on anything but the man currently reading the sports pages of the morning’s newspaper across from her.

Dressed in another pair of sweatpants, he was draped casually over the chair, with a leg tossed over the armrest and only the tufts of his unruly black curls peeking above the publication. Every now and then, he’d reach for his cup of coffee, but otherwise, he was glued to whatever was so interesting from the games of the day before.

She hid a smile at how domesticated this all was, and for a brief moment, contemplated that this could be the way they’d live for the rest of their lives…with maybe her children and Ghost in the background…

 _Or maybe a real baby or two,_ she thought with her entire being burning at that thought. She had not forgotten about his behavior in the elevator, both too excited and eager to satiate the lust that had brewed between them at the time to be bothered with protection. He has been careful since then, but she knew she’d have nothing to worry about anyway. Missandei had the foresight to encourage her to begin using birth control when she was aware of Dany’s insistence on calling an escort.

 _You never know,_ her best friend had teased as she dropped off the blue pills. _Who knows if this guy you call keeps his end of the bargain? I mean if things get hot and heavy…better safe than sorry, right?_

Right. The last time she’d been pregnant, she hadn’t even known about it until it was too late, and though both of them had laughed off the probability of even engaging in any sexual activity with another man, Dany had still been diligent with the medication.

_(you never know…)_

She sighed and wrapped her arms around her legs, her gaze drifting to the highrises in the distance. She was lucky in a way. She couldn’t imagine carrying the _khal’s_ child, after the way he treated her, yet she would be lying if a part of her still didn’t cherish the idea of having real children someday. A little girl with blond or silver hair like hers would be nice…or maybe a boy with….black curls just like his fath-

_Ah! What am I thinking about?!_

“Wh-where’s Ghost?” she blurted out as if to divert away from her ridiculous thoughts.

Jon lowered the paper with a bemused expression before it cleared away quickly. “Oh, I left him with a friend in another condo.”

“I th-thought Arya usually to-took care of him when you…well…wo-work and the such.”

She watched as a flash of pain flickered across his features before he let out a soft sigh. Lowering the newspaper, he gave her a wry smile. “Usually but…we…eh…we sort of had an argument.”

She blinked in surprise. She had always assumed the two were too close to resort to such sibling frivolities and considering that over ninety-percent of the photos in the apartment consisted of Arya, it was clear he was devoted to his baby sister.

“Wh-why? If-if you do-don’t mind me asking.”

Jon shrugged lightly and ran a hand through his hair. “Actually…it was over you.” He looked sheepish and winced at the puzzled reaction this got from Dany. “Don’t…I mean it’s not that she hates you or anything,” he added quickly to appease her confusion. “It’s just…” He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. They might as well deal with this now especially with what happened at the concert last night.

“It’s about my work,” he finished quietly. He nervously fingered the handle of his mug, though his gaze remained intensely on her. When she said nothing, he continued in that same quiet tone. “She was concerned about my…my feelings for you, and hoped I wouldn’t lead you on by…giving you the impression that…uh…I mean she mentioned that you might have…erm…de-deeper feelings for me and…”

 _Seven hells!_ He was rambling! The sudden realization that this could all blow up in his face had him fidgeting in his chair. He wished he could backtrack and start over again, now finding a point above the tufts of her hastily-tied ponytail more interesting than looking directly into her eyes. And was it just him or was it now a bit too hot out here? I mean there was the threat of rain, but he felt like he was a goddamn sauna –

“Wa-wasn’t it al-already obvious?” came the softly-spoken words, so unexpected, that for a moment he was sure he had misheard her completely. Not that she was helping much with her reddened features nearly hidden behind her legs as she buried her face against them.

He heard something loud drumming somewhere, before realizing it was the pounding of his heartbeat and the almost dizzying rush of blood to his head. Was she actually admitting…?

“Dany…” he croaked.

“I do-do,” she mumbled against her knees; now unable to look at him as she spoke. The other telltale of her distress was the tightening of her clasped hands. “I mea-meant wh-what I said la-last night at the con-concert. I-I wa-want yo-you for myself on-only b-b-b…”

With a frustrated sigh, she finally looked up and signed the rest of her words: _I meant what I said last night at the concert. I want you for myself, but I know you have a job to do, a job that requires you raise enough money for reclaiming Winterfell, and I don’t want to get in the way of that. I know it’s selfish of me and unrealistic and …forget it._

Before Jon could get a word in, she was up in a flash and perhaps forgetting she had been carried to most places or had walked tentatively to each location, her feet got tangled causing her to lose her balance. She gave a cry of dismay and braced herself for the painful impact, but when the scraping sound of the chair was heard and the immediate sensation of steady strong arms wrapped around her, she slapped her hands over her face and moaned in misery at how terrible everything was going. She wanted to burst into tears of shame, stuttered words of apology at being so weak and pathetic welling in her throat. However, when she felt his lips against her temple, she whimpered his name and sagged against him in weary resignation.

_I'm such an idiot. Nothing but a clumsy unrealistic fool, Jon Snow._

Unaware of her self-deprecating thoughts, he would settle her more comfortably between his legs, wrapping his arms even tighter around her trembling form as if to protect her from whatever nefarious elements lurked amongst the shadows created by the ominous gray clouds.

For how long they remained sitting on the ground, neither had any clue. All that mattered was this moment in each other’s presence, listening to their heartbeats as they tried to come to terms with feelings they could no longer pretend they did not feel. And it was with his lips pressed to the top of her head, and his steady gaze trained on the horizon of an endless ocean, would he finally whisper what his heart had always known.

“I love you, Dany.”

For a panicked moment, he wondered if she had heard him for no response seemed forthcoming…at least not until her shoulders began to quake and her soft sob got lost against his chest now getting damp with her tears. Her arms encircled his waist and held on just as tight, causing his eyes to drift closed in silent gratitude and relief as his throat tightened with a lump that would not go down.

“I think I’ve lo-loved you for a long time,” he confessed shyly when he could trust himself to speak again. “And no, it wasn’t from the portrait…though it did intrigue me, but it was everything else after that. I couldn’t see your physical attributes, but I could damn well see the other wonderful…maybe slightly annoying side of you.”

She gave a choked laugh against his chest causing him to grin.

“Remember that fucking list you made for me that night? Making me buy those specific things for you?”

She nodded as she sniffled.

“I swear I wanted to just drive on home that night-”

“Bu-but yo-you came back,” she whispered. “Wh-why?”

“…I didn’t want you to think Jaime Lannister was better than me,” Jon admitted with slight embarrassment. “It’s a…eh… male thing. Besides, I was determined to prove you wrong.”

She raised her head then, all red-eyed,flushed, tear-streaked cheeks with a hint of snot escaping her nose. She might have looked a mess to anyone else, but to him…she was the most beautiful creature on earth, and he wouldn’t have her otherwise. With a hard kiss to her forehead, he reached for a napkin to wipe her face tenderly, patiently allowing her to blow her nose into it, before discarding the cloth to the side.

“And?” he asked with a small smile as he studied her bashful countenance. “Now you’ve heard my confession, it’s your turn to admit when you fell madly in love with me…hey!”

She had playfully tapped the side of his head, but quickly burrowed her heated face against his chest again, not trusting herself to speak. She settled for listening to his heartbeat and trying to synchronize it with hers.

 _I loved you long before I met you,_ she thought as she closed her eyes. _You were always the prince in my dreams; the handsome knight who would rescue me from my world of darkness and solitude and show me how beautiful the world could truly be. You’ve always been there, Jon Snow. It just took a while for the gods to bring you to me._

But she couldn’t say such words to him. They were too flowery, poetic, the whimsical thoughts of the artist within her. She could write him a million poems or present him with a thousand paintings, which was a reminder that she was yet to show him the gift she had made. Maybe when they finally peeled themselves off the floor she would get it, but she had no inclination or desire to move a muscle. She wanted to remain this way with him for as long as they could manage it.

“I’ve given up Winterfell,” came the quiet words which had her pulling back again with shock. She blinked and stared at him, wondering if he was kidding, but the seriousness in those grey eyes was enough to tell her he wasn’t in the least joking.

 _But I thought it was what you wanted,_ she signed with confusion. _Arya said…_

“Yes, it was,” Jon replied as he tucked away the loose strands of her hair from her face. “That was the plan from the beginning. If I could work and get enough money, I would return to Winterfell and purchase the land from Ramsay Bolton. However, you…and Arya have made me rethink everything, and I’ve realized it’s not worth the hassle. Winterfell might now be a memory to many, but it will always be our home even if it’s no longer standing. I won't lie and say it doesn't hurt to realize I could not fulfill my promise, but as long as I have you and Arya by my side…it will be worth letting it go.”

He took a deep breath and reached for her hands. “But…it’s more complicated than that, Dany. There’s more to this and I think…I think Arya has figured it out as well.”

He would proceed to tell her everything; from his decision to come to King’s Landing to his job at the construction sites, to his fateful meeting with Cersei at the bar. He would tell of his desperation and need to save his home and his sister, giving up his ‘freedom’ for ten years in exchange for living a life he could have only dreamed of while moving one step closer (he had assumed) to buying off the Bolton Corp.

Reluctantly, he had to admit that Cersei had done a lot for him, even if it had come at a price. If it wasn’t for her influence and connections, Arya wouldn’t be with him today and for that alone, he was willing to remain in the escort business. He definitely hadn’t planned on Dany throwing a wrench in the equation, but with her taking up a huge chunk of his every waking thought and heart, there was no way he could continue working for the Lannisters. The only problem was finding a way to get out of his contract now without eliciting Cersei’s wrath or having Arya return to The Vale.

When he was finished, Dany had an inscrutable expression on her visage, her lower lip caught between her teeth. Jon was sure he could literally hear the gears of ideas running through her mind, and he placed a finger against her forehead scrunched in thought with a shake of his head.

“If you’re thinking of buying me out, forget it,” he said with a small smile. “Cersei’s not going to be that easy, and knowing her, she’s probably going to do something like calculate how much I make for her a year times the seven years I have left and make you pay for everything. She'll drain you dry, Dany. I can’t let you do that, so forget it.”

“Do-does Arya know?” she finally asked.

“Not the details, but I think she’s figured out something’s wrong with the whole set up,” Jon replied with a long exhale of breath. He suddenly seemed tired and her heart broke for him.

“Th-then you sh-should speak to her,” Dany stated firmly. “Sh-she might be the k-key to you getting ou-out of th-this. You nev-never know.”

“Arya’s impulsive,” Jon said with a pained smile. “I don’t know what she’s likely to do if she hears the full story. I just keep having this image of her storming to the Night’s Watch offices and burning it all to the ground.”

“Mi-might no-not be su-such a bad idea,” Dany said with a grim smile. “I’d do it.”

Jon chuckled. “Makes you wish you had a real dragon, eh? I’d pay good money to see you incinerate a few things.”

Dany laughed softly and placed a tender kiss against his bearded jaw. She allowed her fingers to trace the outline of the hairy visage watching as his lashes closed in pleasure at the massage.

 _He loved her._ Loved her enough to want to give it all up, but at what cost? If her heart could swell and burst into an avalanche of rainbows and pink unicorns, it would probably still be doing that. Unfortunately, what should have been a complete moment of happiness was tainted by the terrible burden upon his shoulders.

His intuition at her initial thought of buying him out was the only option she had come up with. If Jon had agreed to it, there was also the second problem of convincing Jorah to go digging into her funds to pay for it. She was likely going to get an epic lecture telling her of all the cons about such an expenditure, and she was in no mood to deal with that. Besides, there was still the problem of getting Dragonstone and who knew how much Stannis was going to ask for that deal? She might be rich, but she did have limits to how much she could squander at will.

 _Or perhaps I could give up Dragonstone just as he’s given up on Winterfell,_ she thought with a sad smile. _It’s not as if I grew up there nor do I really have much of an attachment to it. All this is simply for the pride of the Targaryen family name, and a need to feel like I’m a part of the dynasty. It’s not as if Stannis has done anything terrible to the castle. He didn’t raze it to the ground and build a shopping mall over it. It’s still got all my family’s heirlooms within and is a great historical site. Shouldn’t I just let it go? Do I really have to announce to the world that I’m still alive and well? Why deal with such unnecessary notoriety and baggage to come along with it?_

“…we could just run away,” she whispered before she realized what was she was saying.

“Run away?” Jon repeated with a raised brow. “What do you mean?”

It was a romantic idea; to go sailing of into the sunset and to hope for the best. However, the sudden thought of her children and Missandei stalled her selfish thoughts. Where would _they_ go? And why would she disrupt the lives of her loved ones over this? Besides, there was also Arya to worry about. If they ran off…what would happen to his sister? Well, unless she chose to come with them –

“Ne-never mind. I wa-was just rambling, but I still think you sh-should talk to her,” Dany insisted as she motioned that she’d like to stand up. Her ass was beginning to hurt from sitting in one position for so long.

Jon acquiesced and raised them to their feet, careful to hold onto her as she wobbled a little. She sank into the chair and let out a mock sigh of exhaustion; a smile coming to her lips as he leaned down to kiss them softly.

“You okay?” Jon asked.

“Wonderful,” she replied as she caressed his cheek. “Bu-but I want to se-see Ghost.”

Jon pouted. “What? Sick of me already?”

At her giggle, he straightened up and stretched, allowing her to appreciate his well-toned physique and remind her of the pleasures of tasting every inch of him.

“Fine. I’ll go pick him up. He’ll probably go nuts when he sees you.”

She laughed as he dove in to pepper her features and neck with baby kisses, while half-heartedly trying to push him away. It wasn’t until he prepared to head back into the apartment, did she stop him with a quiet call of his name.

“Jon Snow.”

He turned at that, a brow raised in silent query. She studied that handsome face for a long moment, as if hoping to memorize every wrinkle, pore and hair upon it. And just when he thought he’d have to change his mind and remain with her, he felt the heat surge through him as she raised her right hand to sign the words he had whispered to her earlier.

 _I love you,_ came the soundless affirmation that made his heart soar to the heavens.

_I love you so much more._

 

* * *

 

With Jon gone, the apartment now seemed ten times more spacious, and the journey to the bedroom felt like an eternity. However, with a grit of her teeth in determination, she held on to whatever sturdy object she could find as she took one slow step after another to her destination.

She couldn’t help the blush to fill her cheeks at the sight of the unmade bed, pillows still haphazardly rearranged and the comforter barely hanging onto the edge of the mattress. She plopped onto it with a sigh of relief and slowly rubbed her shins. She hated having to resort to pain killers, but it was a necessary evil for moments like these. She was sure she had done more exercise in half-a-day than her entire therapy sessions so far.

She reached for her satchel on the chair and dug through it to find the familiar white bottle, only to wince as her fingers felt the familiar hardness of her cell phone. Goodness! She hadn’t looked at the device since the concert, not that she was expecting anyone to call her. She had told Missandei she’d call if anything went wrong, and she doubted Jorah would want to bother her.

She hoped.

 _Although,_ she mused with a sense of impending dread even as she turned on the device barely hanging on at 2% battery power left. _If he is in any way worried about me not returning last night then…_

Then he would apparently call five times within an hour and two more afterwards, before leaving a series of texts that began with something as simple as:

**11:20pm - It’s almost midnight, Dany. Are you ok?**  
**11:35pm – Please respond so I know you’re ok.**  
**12:15am – I am worried, Dany. Call me.**

To the more troubling:

 **1:15am – Where in the gods name are you two? Do you know what time it is?**  
**1:30am – I’m going to call the City Watch. Send me a text once you get this or else.**  
  
As if that wasn’t bad enough, and this after she had managed to plug in the charger with quaking hands, she would listen to the voice messages he left behind, each getting more upset and agitated as the night wore on. By the time she got to the last one, his voice sounded slurred and she could swear he was sobbing a little.

“Call me, please,” this person she thought was Jorah had groveled. “I need to hear from you…to know you’re okay…I’m just…worried. And if he’s hu…hurt you, I’ll never forgive him. I-I lo-love you, my princess.”

That unnamed sense of dread was now replaced with a chunk of ice dropping into the pit of her stomach. She stared numbly at the device, Jorah’s words and his voice reeling through her mind like watching a really terrible movie. She was horrified to find herself drifting slowly back into that sense of detachment; that sense of being split into two where the real Dany could only watch in silence as her body and mind was slowly being tainted by the men who claimed they loved and treasured her. She was with Viserys again in that attic as he painfully groped her. She was in the bowels of Vaes Dothrak being taken against her will despite her pleas for mercy as she was constantly –

“We’re home!” came the sudden wonderful interruption that was quickly heralded by a familiar bark to shatter her descent into that abyss.

Ghost bounded into the bedroom, all nearly 90lbs of white fluffy bundle of excitement descending on her and knocking away the phone from her grasp. She’d only have a moment to notice that Missandei had also left a message, but she was now too preoccupied with Ghost slobbering all over her face. She couldn’t help laughing at the wonderful distraction. Dear gods, she had missed him.

“I told you he’d be all over you like this,” Jon said with a chuckle as he watched the duo tangled on his bed. “He must have smelled your presence on me from the moment I got there because he was just about dragging me home.”

Dany said nothing, simply wrapping her arms – at least as much as she could – around the dog now half-lying on her. Suddenly she missed her babies; Drogon, Viserion, Rhaegal. She felt the burning sensation in her eyes and wished she could be with them again. She’d never been away from them for this long, and she wondered how they were faring. Did they miss her as much as she missed them? Were they okay? And with the way Jorah had sounded last night, she sincerely hoped he hadn’t done anything to hurt them.

Ghost gave a low whine and licked at the tears that had escaped to roll down her cheek. His blood red eyes were warm with concern and he nuzzled her with his large nose as if hoping to comfort her as best he could.

“Dany?” Jon queried when he heard her sniffling. He laid beside her, a frown on his features. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

She hitched in a breath and met grey eyes dark with concern. Ah, how she loved this man and all he stood for. However, her time had come. She’d have to deal with a pressing issue at home and for that to happen…

“I have to go back,” she whispered. “Th-there is something I ha-have to do.”

“Did something happen at home?” he asked as he cradled her cheek, forcing her to look at him. “Is everything all right?”

“I do-don’t know,” she replied with her heart now pounding like a snare drum in her chest. “I ju-just…I need to know everything is all right.”

“Did Missandei call you? Did she say something?”

“Jo-Jon…”

But he was already leaving her side, and to her dismay, reaching for the phone she had dropped. The last thing she wanted was for him to see those messages from Jorah. There was no doubt it would get Jon upset and having the two men go at each other was not something she looked forward to. She held out her hand for the device.

“Gi-give it to me.”

“Dany-”

“Jon. Pl-please.”

Jon’s jaw tightened but he did as told. There was a frown of consternation on his visage now, but with a sigh and a run of his fingers through his hair, he knew he had no choice but to obey her wishes. He wasn’t stupid. He knew Jorah might have said or left a message to make her this upset, and by the gods, if that bastard had threatened her-

“Lo-look in my bag,” she said quickly as if to diffuse the tension in the room. “I ma-made something for you.”

“Oh?”

“I ho-hope you like it,” she added shyly as he withdrew the rolled up canvas and looked to her with a raised brow for verification. At her nod, he smiled and tugged off the twine holding it together, before unraveling the painting to reveal its contents.

_Whoa._

It was him…at least what was supposed to be a representation of what he was. He was in the forefront, a half-body portrait with its focus on his darkened features. He looked both thoughtful and ominous at the same time, his features unsmiling and his gaze piercing…judging…studying the mirage staring back at him. He was clad in a black traditional northern fur-lined cloak, which gave way to the illusion that it was dissolving into streaks of black ink against the snow-dotted backdrop. Behind him were black skeletal trees with a hint of blue signifying The Wall in the distance, with the finishing touch being the dark silhouette of a crow in flight seemingly evolving from his hair. All around it was a fantastic portrait, but he couldn’t help wondering if the meaning behind it was just as dark and troubling as it had been for him. He was sure she didn’t mean to make something this…un-cheerful, but at the same time…

“It’s…how I se-see you som-sometimes,” she explained when he remained silent. “Yo-you are a crow…all members of the Night’s Watch are, but you…you are di-different. Yo-you long to fl-fly, but it’s ha-hard at thi-this time.”

Jon felt his heart clench tight at her words, knowing damn well exactly what she meant. He nodded, with a whispered ‘thank you’ and rolled the canvas back slowly, wishing the horrifying urge to burst into tears would fade away. Perhaps it was the painting and the knowledge that their time together was up …for now – whatever it was-

_I don’t want to let you go…ever…_

His thoughts were screeched to a halt at the gentle tugging of his shirt, and as he looked down and into those shimmering endless amethyst depths, he could see her unspoken request before she could articulate them.

 _One last time,_ she begged. _Make love to me, Jon Snow and make me forget what’s about to come._

He would oblige with a helpless groan of her name, and as he shoo’d Ghost away to take his rightful place upon and within her, he silently prayed that time would stand still and make this moment last forever.

 

* * *

 

Unfortunately, Reality had other plans, and by the time they made it downstairs, it was a steady downpour outside.

Ghost whined in protest at another flash of lightning and rumbling thunder, as he lay his head upon Dany’s lap while they waited patiently for Jon to bring the car around.

Whispering soothing words of comfort to the canine, while stroking between his ears, she wondered if her children were doing okay at this time. Rhaegal was especially fearful of thunderstorms, and she missed his trembling body snuggled tight against hers.

She had tried calling Missandei, to check up on things, but her friend had not picked up. Her cryptic text of ‘call me as soon as you can’ was not exactly the kind of antidote Dany needed to combat Jorah’s rants. There was the option of calling him, but she was a bit afraid to do so. Perhaps seeing him in person would be better. Still, she knew she had to mentally brace herself for any speeches she was bound to receive when they finally arrived. It was just after four in the evening now, though with the darkened skies and the street lights already blazing, one could assume it was later than usual.

She smiled politely at the couple to dash into the building, both soaking wet and laughing as they greeted Dany absently before heading into the elevator. Self-consciously, she tugged at the hem of her dress, wondering if anyone knew it was what she had worn yesterday and wouldn’t assume she was some cheap whore. Luckily, it was a different security guard at the post today, and the younger man didn’t seem too concerned with Dany’s appearance.

“Seven hells,” Jon would pant as he stepped through the automatic doors, shrugging off the rivulets of water upon his jacket. “The streets are definitely going to be flooded in some areas. But we better get going before it gets worse. Come on, boy,” he called out to Ghost. “Let’s get you in first.”

Ghost obliged, somewhat reluctantly, but allowed his master to lead him by the leash toward the exit.

“Did yo-you sp-speak to Arya?” Dany called out just as they reached the doors again.

Jon nodded, though there was a frown on his visage as he did this. “I tried, but for some reason I keep getting the message saying the number I’m trying to dial is no longer available. Doesn’t make any damn sense. Maybe you’ll have better luck.”

Dany nodded and dug into her bag for her phone. She hoped for a response from Missandei as she turned on the device, but there was nothing yet. Settling for pulling up Arya’s number, she dialed the familiar digits, and just as Jon had said, she received nothing but the impersonal robotic female voice giving her the same monotonic message.

_Number no longer available…why would it no longer be available?_

The sound of the doors opening again had her looking up. Assuming it was Jon returning, she was surprised to see a face she hadn’t seen in a while.

“Gr-Grey Worm?” she called out in disbelief. “What are yo-you doing here?”

The foreign exchange student flashed a polite smile and lowered his umbrella. Still as handsome and courteous as ever, Dany had to wonder why Missandei wasn't making a move on him. Since that night, her friend had barely mentioned anything about the young man. Such a shame too. It looked like they were getting along so well.

“It is good to see you again, Miss. Dany,” Grey Worm replied in his thick-accented Common Tongue. "I hope you are well."

“I-I am. Th-thank you,” Dany answered with a matching smile, though warmer. “Di-did you co-come to see Arya?”

He shook his head and was about to respond when Jon darted in again muttering something about getting a fucking boat to maneuver their way down the roads. He seemed averse to using an umbrella and was now drenched, his hair a dark wet mass plastered around his face. It would take him a moment to realize it was Grey Worm standing beside him, which would cause him to hail out in greeting and exchange the male equivalent of a hearty hug and handshake.

“What are you doing here?” Jon asked, absently accepting a towel from the (not too pleased) guard to wipe himself down. He was making a mess in the foyer after all, and he was bound to get complaints for the other tenants later.

“I thought you were with Arya and Gendry,” Jon inquired as he ran the towel through his hair.

“I am…was,” Grey Worm seemed to correct himself, before digging into the inner pocket of his jacket. “This was left on the table in our living room apartment. It was addressed to you, Mr. Snow.”

Jon accepted the plain white envelope with a puzzled frown, exchanging a quick look with Dany, who could only worry her lower lip. There was an unspoken thread of thought between them, that whatever this envelope contained was related to why Arya’s number was no longer ‘available’.

Jon could feel his pulse quickening and a drumming sound that raged within his temple as the possible stirrings of the mother-of-all-headaches threatened to happen. His mouth suddenly felt dry and it would take him another moment to realize his hands were beginning to tremble. He _didn’t_ want to read the letter. Call it a sixth sense, but he was sure it had nothing good in it. His legs suddenly felt too light to hold him steady, and he’d barely hear his name being called before steady hands held him in place.

“Perhaps you should sit down, Mr. Snow,” Grey Worm was saying as he ushered an unresisting Jon into the chair next to Dany. He shared a concerned look with her, but she was quick to nod and smile in weak reassurance.

“Th-thank you, Grey Worm,” she said quietly. “I-I’ll take it from here.”

“Will he be okay?” the younger man asked.

Dany stared at the lowered head beside her. Jon was still clenching the envelope like a vice, and even she was aware that whatever was inside was probably not going to be the greatest of news. All the same…

“We will,” she replied with a firm nod. “Th-thank you again.”

Grey Worm didn’t look too convinced, but he shrugged lightly and excused himself…only to stop at the doors before looking back at the couple. “If it helps,” he began cautiously. “They were in good spirits yesterday. I would not be too worried.”

He left before Dany could find a suitable response, his silhouette getting lost within the pelting tears from the heavens.

“She’s gone,” came the sudden flat words from Jon that startled Dany. “I know she is.”

“Yo-you can’t kn-know that,” Dany replied. “We just have to…”

Jon held up the letter without looking at her, a silent permission for her to read whatever damning words they contained. She wanted to argue that he do the honors, but at his urgent thrust of the paper towards her, she plucked it out of his fingers with a deep shuddering breath.

It would take her a while to get through it all as answers to questions they’d had were slowly revealed in the most unexpected and heartbreaking ending…or perhaps to the beginning of a new chapter of their young lives.

__

_Dear Jon,_

_I know. It’s weird to be reading something like a letter instead of some impersonal hastily-written email, but I felt it best to do it this way. Besides, remember how Dad used to say, ‘a handwritten letter is a direct window to the heart’? Well guess what? This is definitely a direct window from my heart to yours. This is something I’ve thought about for a long time, and as I write this, I’ve got a wastepaper basket full of discarded drafts beside me. Anyway, this isn’t supposed to be a graded essay, so I’ll just get right into it._

_I am going away._

_Not because of our argument, since it’s not the first time we’ve not seen eye-to-eye, but something about that argument which finally made me see what I’ve tried to ignore all this time._

_I am holding you back, Jon._

_It hurts me to admit this, but I think we both know that as the truth. Ever since we were little, you were always there for me. You stood up for me and stuck with me when it seemed everyone else was against me. You never saw me as a hindrance and embraced all my weirdness with all the love and support you could give. I miss those days at Winterfell when we’d play for hours in the crypts or we’d go hunting or lie on the curtain walls of the Broken Tower talking for hours. We thought our lives would remain as tranquil forever, but it seemed like Fate had other plans._

_I can’t begin to imagine what you must have felt or gone through after the accident happened, but I could see the effect it had on you when we met again. There were still traces of the Jon I knew, but there was a newer version now in existence, a Jon who was too blind to the emotional chasm and void he was creating between those he loved. You gave me all the best things; a new home, great education, the best treatments and therapies…but most important of all, my freedom. Living with you was all I could have wished for, and I wouldn’t trade a single moment for anything in the world._

_But despite it all, I could still see the strain you were under, the rigors of a job others would have considered fantastic, yet you would return to the apartment with an aura of emptiness that was saddening to see. I’m not a psychologist, but even I could tell you were depressed and when you admitted that you also had panic attacks…well those two combinations were a recipe for disaster. You were committing emotional suicide, Jon, and I didn’t know how to fix it. Perhaps I should have insisted you see Maester Cressen more often, but knowing how stubborn you can be, you would have refused anyway._

_There were so many times I wondered why you wouldn’t quit if you were so unhappy at work. There were plenty of other jobs you could get if you were so determined to get back Winterfell, but the more I thought about it, the more I began to put together the pieces of why you were so adamant to remain with The Night’s Watch. You must have sworn an oath or signed a contract of some sort, didn’t you? And that contract probably contained a clause regarding my welfare, didn’t it? I was probably part of the bargaining chip used to keep you tied to The Watch, wasn’t I? And now, with the added pressure of Dany in the picture, you’re conflicted as to how to go about getting out of that contract, aren’t you?_

_(Speaking of Dany, please, please, please consider what I said. She really is one of a kind, and I’d hate for you to make a dumb decision that you’ll regret for the rest of your life.)_

_That’s why I’ve made the decision to leave King’s Landing. Left to me, I’d love nothing more than to give Cersei a piece of my mind, but I talked it over with Gendry and he suggested we simply leave – go to a place where no one would ever find us until things settle down for you. This was talked about after that soccer match, when we both realized how smitten you were with Dany, but I had no answer to give him until the day of our argument – so you see, I really didn’t come to this decision lightly._

_By the time you read this, I’ll probably no longer be in town. I didn’t get to pack a lot, but I had a few things at Gendry’s and we have some money saved up from our jobs, so we’re good. Please don’t try to look for us, as its best you remain in the dark about our whereabouts, but just know that you don’t have to worry about me. Gendry might be a dumb jock sometimes, but he’s got a heart bigger than all of Westeros. A heart just as big as yours._

_The ball is now in your court, dearest brother. With me gone, and I hope your plans to no longer pursue gaining Winterfell again, you can attend to Cersei and find a way to gain your freedom now. You deserve all the happiness in the world, and I hope you find it with that woman who will love you unconditionally. Never ever feel you’ve been a failure to our family and legacy. The gods know you’ve done more than anyone could have ever hoped for, and I’m sure Dad, Mom, Robb, Sansa, Bran, and Rickon are all looking down at you with pride._

_Thank you so much for everything, Jon. From the bottom of my heart and soul, I thank you. I will miss you like crazy but knowing that you’re fighting for yourself now should help ease the ache. Take care of yourself and Dany and Ghost and Drogon, Viserion, and Rhaegal. Hey, who knows? The next time I hear from you two, I better hear the tag line of Mr. and Mrs. Jon Snow, eh? (lol…j/k…no seriously make it happen, okay?)_

_Love always,_  
_Needle._  
_P.S: Never forget what Dad always used to say: “When the snows fall, and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives.”_  
_We are survivors, Jon, and you will get through this._


	14. Decisions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all!  
> Sorry for the long delay in getting this one out.  
> New job + real life being a PITA has made writing a slow process, but if you follow me on Tumblr, you'll understand why this chapter felt good to complete *lol*  
> Thanks again for sticking around and being so patient!  
> Hope you enjoy and as always, your feedback is very much appreciated! *bows and skips out*

_Thanks as always to the wonderful[Anitah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anitah/profile) for the moodboard! _

 

* * *

 

Flickering memories – like the slides from an archaic projector – would continue to taunt him mercilessly. A high-pitched laugh at a stupid joke made. A mischievous grin when caught doing something naughty. A determined frown while concentrating on getting a task done right. Or a crumpled face torn between bursting into tears or wanting to go into a rage.

_She never liked to cry, did she? Always thought it was such a ‘girly’ thing to do._

But try as hard as she might to be tough, she did weep; sometimes into the muffled comfort of a pillow so he couldn’t hear, or when particularly upset, casting away her pride to crawl into his bed. How small and fragile she’d feel in his arms then, no longer the boisterous, tomboyish Arya that drove everyone nuts. In those moments, she was nothing more than his baby sister who needed his comfort and protection.

 _Not any more,_ he thought ruefully. _I’ve been replaced, and to make things worse, **I’m** the one who needed protection after all._

Still, he had to wonder if she had shed a tear as she left Westeros. He hoped she did. Perhaps knowing that would make this all feel a little better.

Just a little.

Unfortunately, the steady _whump-thump-swish_ of the wiper blades were the only sounds to serenade the silence and answer his unspoken query. Though there was the occasional whine from their four-legged companion in the back seat, neither human was ready to shatter the weight of private musings that would eventually need to be explored whether they liked it or not. Around them life continued with a now steady drizzle and the melancholy bokeh of lights caused by an unwelcome traffic jam along the Street of Sisters. Time crept on in agonizing seconds as horns blared with dutiful impatience, everyone eager to get to their destination.

_But where do I go from here? Where do I even begin?_

On any other day, he might have been one of those desperate honkers, hell, even an hour ago he might have been doing his best to weave through the infinite row of cars and risk getting a citation from the City Watch. Unfortunately, his world now appeared to be seen through a dull haze of grey, everything going at a sluggish pace until he felt he might be wading through quicksand that was threatening to swallow him whole. Where once he might have been more concerned with formulating concrete excuses for why he was returning to the mansion so late, that problem was now the least of his worries.

He couldn’t remember getting off that chair in the lobby, couldn’t even remember helping Dany into the car. He could vaguely recollect her stuttered words of comfort, but she might have been speaking from a vacuum for all the difference it made. Tucked within his jacket, and probably burning a hole right through the cloth, were the last words from a sister he might never see again.

He knew her message had sounded hopeful, but as his fingers gripped the steering wheel tighter still, his thoughts could only center on replaying scenes from their last meeting. What could he have said differently? Why hadn’t he apologized more profusely? Why hadn’t he called her up again and again to convince her otherwise?

 _What difference would that have made,_ a tiny voice screamed within. _She was already aware of what was going on, wasn’t she? What makes you think she wouldn’t have changed her mind without the argument anyway?_

Still…leaving _completely_? Just taking off without talking to him face-to-face about her decision? And who the hell was Gendry to just charter her away to the-gods-know-where just so he could-

“Fuck!”

He slammed the brakes so hard, even Ghost nearly rolled off his perch and gave a bark of protest at the sudden movement. With another muttered curse, Jon finally gave a loud and long honk of frustration at the 4-wheeler that had cut into his lane. The bastard hadn’t even bothered trafficating, and Jon had been this close to smashing into its rear end. Even the bumper sticker with its jeering ‘IF U CAN READ THIS – FUCK U’ label was enough to have Jon wanting to actually collide with the car just to teach the asshole a lesson.

However, reality and level-headedness were restored with the wet sensation of Ghost’s tongue against his cheek, forcing him to try to push the dog back into position before meeting forlorn violet eyes that must have been watching him all this time.

_…damn._

In his funk of self-pity and personal reproach, he had cast his companion to the wayside; a terrible habit that had cost him a sister and could end up costing him the woman he’d given his heart to, if he wasn’t careful. Feeling a cloak of shame descend upon him, he shifted restlessly on his seat and tried to give a smile of reassurance. It was a smile that was supposed to say ‘he would be all right’ or ‘she ought not to worry about him’, but even that act now felt strained and tedious.

She didn’t help matters by reaching out to cradle his cheek with a warm hand, for the lump that had remained stubbornly stuck in his throat now threatened to break free in the form of tears. He settled for closing his eyes for the briefest of moments, leaning into the caress as if to soak in every ounce of comfort she could give, before pulling away reluctantly with a soft exhalation of breath.

“I’ll be all right,” he finally forced himself to say; his voice thick and alien even to him. “I just…need some time to process everything I guess.”

Dany nodded in understanding and withdrew her hand, but only to continue clutching the cell phone she’d been holding onto all this time. Jon stole a quick glance at it and then up to Dany’s features again. He could see the signs of worry around the tightening of her lips causing another surge of guilt to sear through him. Here he was consumed with his woes while she had her burdens to bear. Was she too concerned about what Jorah would do to her? Who knew what that old man had planned? Was it even safe to return her back there? His jaw tightened. He was more than tempted to turn the car around and never return – not to the mansion, not even to a penthouse that was now going to be nothing more than a spacious tomb without Arya’s presence. They could just drive off…far away…from Jorah, Cersei…everyone. Maybe they could even start driving up North and then-

“Ah!”

He cocked his head at the little sound she gave, brows raised as the familiar chime of her ringtone filled the silence. He stiffened, wondering if it was Jorah calling, but at the brief flash of the words ‘MISSY’ on the device, he relaxed a little…but just long enough for him to notice that Dany’s expression was now pensive as she listened to her best friend.

_What now?_

“…ye-yes…I…uh-huh…not ye-yet…”

Jon, doing this best to decipher whatever Missandei might be saying, was not reassured as he noticed Dany’s left hand clenched tighter on her lap. She seemed to be visibly shaking, and as the traffic began to pick up pace – just barely – Jon felt his pulse quicken with mild alarm. Something definitely wasn’t right.

“…oh-okay,” Dany was saying as her lower lip quivered. Those striking eyes of amethyst now a bit too bright. “We-we will co-come over. N-Now.”

“What’s wrong?” Jon asked as soon as she ended the conversation. “Is she all right? Is everything all right?”

Dany took a deep shuddering breath, and without looking at Jon spoke as carefully as she could. “Co-could we pl-please go to Missy’s ap-apartment? She says it’s important.”

“Dany-”

“She-she’s got my chil-children with her.”

For a moment Jon was confused as to what that had to do with anything, but as he met Dany’s penetrating gaze, and a single tear finally broke free to run down her cheek, the gravity of what she was saying sunk in slowly. There was no reason for Missandei to have those three massive creatures with her at this time, so something must have indeed happened at the mansion to give her reason to escape with them.

“Jorah,” he said through clenched teeth.

Dany’s barely audible sob was all the response he needed. That son-of-a-bitch! If he had laid a hand on Missandei or the dogs, the gods forgive him for what he would do if he found himself face-to-face with his fellow Northerner.

“You aren’t going back to the mansion tonight,” he decided tightly. “If you have to stay with Missandei then do it. I don’t want you going back there.”

Dany opened her mouth to speak, but gave up and signed instead. _Let’s find out what happened first before we jump to conclusions. She just sounded a bit worried that’s all. I don’t-_

“You need to stop making excuses for him,” Jon interrupted with a shake of his head. “I mean, I know you owe him a lot for rescuing you and all that, but seven hells, Dany, he’s a fucking creep. Can’t you see that?”

His tone touched a nerve as she trained a scowl on him and went into a flurry of hand movements that was a little difficult to follow. The basic gist was that Jon had no right to tell her how to feel when it came to Jorah. She would make the decision on how to deal with him. Jon was to stay out of it.

“Fine,” he growled with a shrug of feigned indifference. “Do what you want. I have my own fucking problems to deal with anyway.”

He missed the pained expression Dany threw his way, before she curled up on the seat and turned away from him. She stared morosely at her reflection on the window, a mild wave of hysteria filling her at the notion of the rain drops matching the tears she had stored up within. She _knew_ Jon was right, but a prideful part of her didn’t want to admit it. She knew Jorah was a ‘creep’. She had seen those tendencies, and hadn’t she vowed to do something about it should push come to shove? Perhaps Missandei’s carefully worded comments was the final straw. She hadn’t been harmed physically; neither had her babies gotten into any altercation with Jorah, but still-

“What’s her address?” came the quiet words to draw her out of her gloomy disposition.

She pulled it up on her phone and held it over her shoulder for him to read. When he muttered that he had gotten it, and set it up on the GPS, she returned to her balled-up cocoon and closed her eyes.

 _He’s angry,_ she mused as the car continued its slow crawl. _And hurt…in pain. I should be able to relate, knowing how bad I felt when I watched Viserys walk away from me all those years ago. I don’t know how to ease the ache, Jon, but I wish you wouldn’t lash out at me either. We’ve both got problems to deal with, and we need to get through them together…don’t we?_

Crowded streets would eventually give way to quiet suburbs lined with towering soldier pines and sentinels as they approached their destination. However, it would take Jon’s gentle shake of her shoulder to jerk her awake from the dreamless doze she had fallen into.

“We’re here,” he announced unnecessarily as she stared at the row of traditional wood and brick buildings before them. It would occur to her that this was the first time she had actually been to Missandei’s home, and self-consciously she began brushing her hair into some semblance of neatness. Just as she was about to tug the dress down her knees, while wishing she had something better to wear, her trembling hand was caught within a stronger one and raised to warm lips.

_Jon…_

His eyes were dark with contrition and a silent plea for forgiveness at his earlier actions. Feeling a surge of heat rush through her, she lowered her gaze shyly and accepted with a slight nod. Her blush deepened as he tried leaning closer to steal a quick kiss. Sadly, the romantic moment was shattered when Ghost’s sudden bark of excitement and restless spinning around in the back seat was soon echoed by three familiar malamutes bounding down the flight of steps.

“My babies!” Dany cried out in delight, shyness and fears dissipated for now.

Laughing with pure joy, she excused herself from Jon and threw the door open…which would prove to be a bad idea as all three dogs attempted to jump into the car and smother their mother with all the licks and nuzzles they could get in. Ghost wasn’t helping either, for he too was trying to get in on the action. Jon couldn’t help the laughter to escape him as Dany all but disappeared amidst an endless pile of fluffy dog hair…until they finally sensed he was around as well and tried to ‘attack’ him in greeting.

“At least let them get out of the car,” Missandei’s amused voice wafted through the air. “Come on boys! Stop!”

At the command, they reluctantly obeyed, the excited trio ordered to sit and wait patiently as the humans extracted themselves from the vehicle. Jon, who had darted around to pull out the wheelchair might have saved himself the trouble for Dany was already on her feet – though holding onto the door – with a grin on her features.

“Sit, boys,” she ordered as they attempted to jump on her again. Taking a deep breath, she waved for Missandei to remain where she was as she took the slow tentative steps toward her. Her best friend’s cry of delight was all the encouragement she needed, and as they fell into each other’s arms in a happy embrace, Jon watched them with a soft chuckle and unabashed pride.

“You should have seen her at my place,” he teased as he unfolded the wheelchair. The rain had thankfully stopped for now. “Running about like a damn rabbit. I could barely keep up!”

“N-not true!” Dany denied though her cheeks were flushed at the insinuation.

“Running or fucking like rabbits?” Missandei sneered playfully and earned a loud “Missy! Don’t say that!” from her embarrassed friend. Not that Jon minded, for this had him cracking up; the first real sign of a relaxed mood since they’d left his home.

“Fine, fine, I’ll get all the details later,” Missandei teased and began ushering her guests upstairs. “Can you climb though? We do have elevators.”

“Wh-why would you get an apartment o-on the se-second floor?” Dany pouted as she stared balefully at the innocent stone steps.

“Cheaper,” came the simple reply. The four dogs were already bounding ahead of the humans, while frolicking with each other - well mostly with Ghost like a long-lost brother.

“Surprisingly, they behave themselves in such tight confines,” Missandei added with a laugh. “Though if I keep them here longer than twenty-four hours, they might drive me and my neighbors batshit crazy.”

“So-sorry,” Dany said with an apologetic smile. “I-”

“Let’s go inside,” Missandei interrupted as Jon helped Dany into the chair. “We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

Dany wasn’t sure what to expect in the place Missandei called home, but she shouldn’t have been surprised at the wonderful splash of modern and Naathi furnishings to adorn the cozy interior. The two-bedroom haven had a relatively generous living room and a section for dining with a great view of the lake behind the complex. Done in warm browns and sepias, the walls were lined with traditional art and weavings from her native country. There were two floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with extensive literature, text books, carved figurines, and framed photographs of Missandei alone, she with Dany, and with fellow classmates. If anyone queried about family photographs, Missandei would have been glad to tell them she had nothing left to remind her of a family she had lost years ago. The civil war that had wrecked her country at that time had definitely left its scars.

“Make yourselves comfortable,” Missandei invited as she disappeared into the spare bedroom with Dany’s belongings. “Anyone want something to drink? Help yourself. Kitchen is right over there.”

“Want anything?” Jon asked as he helped Dany onto the comfortable leather sofa.

She sighed and stretched out her legs in relief, where Drogon and Viserion were quick to position themselves at her feet. “Water will be fine. Thank you.”

With a quick hard kiss placed on her forehead, he made his way toward the kitchen just big enough for two, accompanied by Rhaegal and Ghost (who seemed determined to sniff out every little thing along the way). Opening the fridge, Jon was assailed with enough health-drinks and salads to have him grimacing. As much as he appreciated the healthy eating, it wouldn’t kill her to have a little steak hanging around, would it? Grabbing two sparkling waters, he made his way back to the living room, where Missandei was now sitting beside Dany, legs tucked beneath her as if the two were about to fall into ‘girl-talk’ mode whether he was there or not.

“Your fridge needs some variety,” Jon remarked as he tapped Dany’s bottle gently in a silent toast.

Missandei raised a brow while absently caressing Viserion’s head. “What’s wrong with my fridge?”

“Boring,” Jon replied at Dany’s inquisitive look. “Just smoothies and nasty veggie concoctions-”

“For your information, Jon Snow, those are beneficial for-”

Dany pretended to be in pain, sticking her fingers into her ears so she wouldn’t have to listen to Missandei launch into the benefits of eating healthy. Pity neither she nor Jon seemed to understand her suffering for the two really did get into a somewhat heated discussion on how ‘beneficial’ such expensive beverages really were. Missandei would counter that some of them were homemade and dared Jon to taste them when all was said and done.

They might have continued their discussion – somehow it had diverted into who was the worst health guru out there – when the sudden chime of her ringtone seeped through the cacophony.

Just like that, the conversation died. Even the dogs seemed to sense the sudden change in mood and gave low whines as Dany stared at the name on the device.

**Jorah.**

Despite the water she was drinking, her mouth suddenly felt dry and a trickle of fear crept up her spine. She hated having to feel this way for a man she had always felt indebted and grateful to, but after everything she’d seen and experienced so far, it only left her unable to articulate the gamut of emotions racing through her at the moment.

“You don’t have to answer it,” came the quiet words from Missandei. “Do you want me to speak to him?”

Dany opened her mouth, but nothing could come forth. She looked up with panicked eyes at her companions. She had to answer him, didn’t she? He had threatened to call the City Watch and there was the likelihood they’d head straight to Jon’s house and cause a scene. Even worse…what if they came _here_? She couldn’t imagine Missandei being interrogated like a common criminal.

Another chime signaled that a text message had been sent, and with a feeling of anxious detachment, she swiped it open; the words cold and accusing as she read them.

**It’s 7.45 p.m. Dany. I know you have read my messages, so please call or text me back. If I do not hear from you within the next five minutes, I will call the City Watch.**

Jon made a sound that was a cross between a snort and a snarl. He had gotten off his armchair to peer at the message over Dany’s shoulder. Straightening up, he pinned a hard look at Missandei. “What happened at the mansion? Did he threaten you?”

Missandei took a deep breath, and folding her arms across her chest as if hoping to protect herself from the memory, she recounted everything to them. By the time she was through, she was alarmed to find herself about to burst into tears, but was spared the humiliation as Dany’s arms engulfed her in a fierce hug. She buried her heated face against her friend’s shoulder, eyes squeezed shut as she struggled to control her emotions.

“I’m so sorry,” Dany whispered soothingly into her ear. “I’m so, so, so sorry.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Missandei replied as she pulled away with a small smile and another deep breath. “We were both idiots to believe he could be any different.”

“I see-seem to al-always attract me-men who want to u-use or hu-hurt me,” Dany continued quietly, now speaking in Valyrian, as she worried her lower lip not wanting to cry either.

“Not all of them,” Missandei reminded her with a warmer smile as she nodded toward the man currently scowling at a painting of a mother breastfeeding her baby. She lowered her voice. “This one looks like he’s ready to kill a few people on your behalf. Maybe we should let him do it.”

Dany, now a bright red, cuffed her friend playfully. “St-Stop. Thi-this is something I ha-have to do on my own. Be-besides…Jon’s got other things to wo-worry about.”

“Oh?”

Dany nodded and mentioned Arya’s departure and letter, which had Missandei’s jaw dropping in amazement.

“Oh, dear.”

“Ye-yes. So, you see wh-why I ca-can’t get him involved with thi-this,” Dany explained, now resorting back to the Common Tongue. She nursed the bottle between her hands. “I-I have to fa-face Jorah on my own.”

“How?” Missandei asked, a sentiment that was echoed by Jon as he finally turned away from the painting.

Dany wished she could sink right through the sofa. The weight of their stares made her feel she was being ambushed and confined by their silent accusations. But they did have a point. Just _how_ was she to combat a man like Jorah? Where could she begin? It wasn’t as if she could choose to hide with Missandei forever. There was also the option of fleeing King’s Landing, but for some reason that idea made her frustrated and angry. Why did _she_ have to run away? She was tired of doing that especially when Jorah was bound to find her again. Her problems couldn’t be solved by just packing up and fleeing the scene. She had to stand her ground and fight back. Arya had made a difficult decision in choosing to seek a new life with Gendry just so her brother could get his freedom. If Arya could do something that brave, why couldn’t she?

“Dany?” Jon called out quietly as he sat on the armrest beside her. “If you want to come back to the apartment with me-”

“No,” she stated firmly with a shake of her head. “Yo-you have to deal with Cer-Cersei, remember?” She gave him a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about me. I just rem-remembered I’m not really all alo-alone in Westeros.”

“Huh?”

She tapped her phone. “I do ha-have family besides Missy here, and I think it’s time to call him again.”

“Who…?”

“Ser Davos.”

The name hung in the air like a leaden lifeline; Missandei’s eyes widening in awareness while it took Jon a little longer to recall who he was. Davos was one of the few remaining members of the Targaryen household when Aemon was alive, wasn’t he? He had never met the deceased maester’s trusted advisor before, but if the stories he’d heard were anything to go by, he seemed like a man capable of holding his own. But how did Dany intend to use him if at all? He doubted Davos was a spring chicken, and it was likely Jorah outweighed and was much younger than he was should things become physical. So, what exactly did she intend to do with Davos?

Dany must have noticed his perplexed expression for she broke into a wider grin and reached out to clasp his hand.

“Your fr-frown will gi-give you wrinkles, Jon. You ne-need to focus on y-you now.”

“But-”

She silenced him with a kiss to his hand before guiding it to her cheek. “Rem-remember what Ar-Arya said in her let-letter,” she began quietly as she closed her eyes and allowed the slightly calloused sensation of his flesh to caress hers. “You ha-have to fight now, and staying he-here worrying about m-me isn’t going to help. Le-Let me take care of th-this, and if you need us for wh-whatever comes with Cer-Cersei, we’ll co-come running. I promise.”

“What good would that do if that asshole tries to hurt you,” Jon grumbled. His thumb traced her jawline, not for the first time admiring just how smooth and pale her flesh was. The very notion that anyone would dare sully it – like say Jorah hitting her – sent a dull flare of fury bubbling within the pit of his stomach. He didn’t think he could bear it. She lifted her lashes then, those endless pools of violet almost sending his knees weakening in response. He could see the fear beneath the veneer of determination, but despite his reservations and concerns, she had a point. He had his own battles to face, and the sooner he got started on it the better. Arya’s message and decision should not have been made in vain.

“Jorah will not do that,” Dany whispered. “As mu-much as he is possessive, he wi-will not hit me. Be-besides, if he does, I’ve got my children to protect me.”

Drogon, perhaps understanding that it was his cue, lifted his head to give one loud bark in agreement.

“Well, I’m not going to rest easy all the same,” Jon replied with a sigh of resignation. “Still, you better text him back before he does send the City Watch combing the city. Second, you’re spending the night with Missandei, and that’s not open for argument.”

Dany opened her mouth to protest, but at Jon’s steely gaze and Missandei wrapping her arms around her shoulders as if to signify that there would be no way for her to run, Dany pouted and snuggled against her friend.

“You two are im-impossible,” she muttered. “You tr-treat me like a chi-child.”

“No, we treat you like you’re the most precious thing in our lives,” Missandei whispered into her ear before kissing it gently. “We won’t let anything happen to you. Now…let’s give Jorah an answer, shall we?”

Still blushing at her words, Dany did as told, her fingers slightly trembling as she tried to reassure her benefactor as much as possible.

 **I apologize for not getting back to you, Jorah,** she typed. **Please forgive me. However, due to the storm and for safety reasons, I will spend the rest of the night with…**

“Me,” Jon mouthed when Dany looked up with bemusement. At Missandei’s agreement, Dany finished up quickly. **Jon. I will return tomorrow morning when the weather has cleared. Please do not worry about me. I am in good hands.**

“If he doesn’t like that, he can go fuck himself,” Missandei stated once it was sent. “Between you and me, I’m exhausted. It’s been one long day.”

“Emo-emotional for all of us,” Dany agreed despite the pounding of her heartbeat as she waited with bated breath for Jorah’s reply. Missandei was already rising to her feet to stretch out aching muscles before heading toward the kitchen.

“Anyone up for chicken stir fry?” she called over her shoulder. “Made from the freshest chickens all the way from Yi Ti…according to the package.”

Jon chuckled and took up the space on the sofa she’d just left behind. “I’ll eat a horse from Asshai if you’ve got it. I’m starving. Dany?”

She nodded absently. Jorah had replied, and holding up the phone wordlessly, she allowed him to read the reply.

**I am glad to hear from you, princess, though it was quite irresponsible to be silent for so long. Same goes for Jon who should have taken the time to let me know of the change in plans. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow. Sleep well.**

Jon expelled a gust of breath, reached for the phone and tossed it toward the empty chair across them. He would silence Dany’s whimpered protest with a tender, then much deeper and hungrier kiss that would send them both sprawling carelessly upon the sofa.

Missandei, who had come out to ask them for their preference in sauces, would slink away with a smile (and perhaps a bit of envy) at the sounds of breathless giggles, rumbling whispers, and an obvious ‘silence’ that spoke volumes.

 

* * *

 

Jon didn’t want to leave.

Morning had come too early, and even as he dressed in silence, he couldn’t help staring with longing at the woman still buried beneath the sheets. With great effort, he placed a chaste kiss to her forehead, his heart stirring as she muttered something that might have sounded like his name, before burrowing even deeper amongst the pillows. The intoxicating musk of their lovemaking last night still lingered upon her skin, though he had to smile at the memory of them doing their best not to be too noisy. He had to come to learn that with every subsequent intimate encounter with Dany, she was prone to being quite vocal about her pleasure. He didn’t mind in the slightest and left to him, he was more than content listening to her scream in ecstasy, but they did have to be considerate of their surroundings. Slapping a hand over her mouth had almost ended up with him being bitten, but they had managed as best they could. Unfortunately, as he finally let himself out of the room – while shrugging into his jacket – he was met with a smug-faced Missandei taking a sip from her coffee mug at the dining table.

“Good morning, Jon” she greeted and raised the cup. “Care to join me? Or do you not have any energy left after your shenanigans last night?”

“Hardy har har,” Jon replied with a blush as he stole a croissant from her plate. So much for being discreet. “What are you doing?”

“Got exams next week,” she groaned and flopped her head on the opened text book before her. “Too much to read. I think I’m all cross-eyed now.”

“You’ll ace it,” Jon replied with a shrug. The pastry was actually quite delicious, and he wondered if he could steal a couple more before heading out. “You’re a smart one.”

“Thank you,” came the genuinely pleased reply. The smile faded however, as she sat up to pin a searching look at him. “And what about you? Where do you go now?”

Jon dug his hands into the pocket of his jeans and rocked back on his heels. He could feel Arya’s letter still poking at his ribs. “The Night’s Watch,” he answered with a wry smile. “Might be as good a place as any to get started.”

“And do you think she’ll just let you go? I’ve heard stories about Cersei and-”

“Not sure what she can do to me now that Arya’s no longer in the picture. She was the only reason I stuck around. She can’t imprison me-”

“But she can take legal action if you signed a contract,” Missandei reminded him. “You think you want to go through all that?”

Jon’s smile was bitter. “I came to King’s Landing with a little more than a hundred gold dragons and not much else. If I end up losing everything, that’s okay. I’ll just go back to construction and earn my living the hard way. I’m not averse to getting these hands dirty you know.”

“Urgh. Stop being so perfect. You’re sickening,” Missandei retorted with a roll of her eyes, though they did widen at the sudden sensation of his warm lips against her cheek. She had to fight back the urge to strike him on reflex.

“Thank you,” Jon said with such quiet intensity, she could feel an unwanted flood of heat race through her until her cheeks felt like they were literally burning. Goodness, now she could truly understand why Dany was so smitten by him. Anyone staring into those eyes of stormy grey was likely to drown and never be rescued.

“What are you thanking me for?” she asked, amazed at how calm and collected she sounded.

Jon’s lips curved into a warmer smile. He nodded toward the bedroom he had just left. “For her…for them…” He pointed to the dogs still dozing off in front of the muted television in the living room. “For just being here. I have no idea what Jorah has in store, but knowing you are around …and I guess Davos…will make things a little bit easier for me.” His brows drew together suddenly. “All the same, be careful all right?”

“I could say the same to you,” Missandei replied. “Keep us up to date on what happens.”

“I will.” He spun on his heels and whistled for Ghost. “Come on, boy. Let’s go home.”

 

* * *

 

The drive back was less eventful. He was going against traffic, so was spared the usual Monday morning rush-hour madness plus the aftereffects of the storm. Though the clouds were still a murky gray, there was the promise of sunshine struggling to penetrate through them. Perhaps if he was a religious man, he could see that as a sign of things to come; that no matter how horrible a situation was, there was always the hope for a new beginning. Pity he couldn’t allow himself to be that optimistic at this time, for as he pulled up to the traffic stop, his fingers drummed restlessly on the steering wheel. He barely blinked at the notification alerts to show up on the dashboard via his phone. There were two messages from Tyrion – clearly new jobs to pick up this week and beyond.

_The honeymoon is over, Jon Snow. Time to get back to the daily grind with entitled women who only see you as a piece of meat._

Jon shook his head, a snort of derision escaping him as it dawned on him at how tawdry this all seemed. Spending the entire weekend with Dany, and getting a taste of what it felt like to be in a _real_ relationship, had just about cheapened the thought of even being in the presence of another woman. He couldn’t even begin to think of spending another minute with a client, for he was sure he’d constantly have thoughts of Dany running through his mind every single time. If his poor work performance didn’t have his clients reporting his lack of enthusiasm and bringing down his rating, it would be Cersei having him visit the office for a ‘talk’ which would include more threats and increased therapy sessions with Cressen.

Neither of which looked appealing.

All the same, precautions had to be considered. He couldn’t afford to be taken off guard, and he knew he’d have to prepare for the worst.

With a firm nod to his final decision, he took the turn back to his apartment, but not before placing a phone call to a very important person with a significant role to play in all of this.

 

* * *

 

“You have the be-best clothes,” Dany gushed as she trailed her hands down the turquoise and ruby-hued caftan adorned with handmade jeweled embroidery in the shape of peacocks around its neckline.

“That old thing?” Missandei replied though she was pleased with the compliment. She put the finishing touches on Dany’s braid and hugged her friend quickly. “I’m glad you like it. I’ve got plenty more for you if you like.”

“Re-really? Thank y-you.”

“We could swap clothes!”

“My-my clothes are so bo-boring,” Dany argued, as she was helped into the wheelchair. She didn’t want to leave the apartment she was already getting used to, but reality awaited outside that door, and she knew she’d have to face up to it sooner rather than later.

“Then we’ll go shopping,” Missandei continued as if realizing her friend’s trepidations and eager to disperse them with such mundane talk. Perhaps if they kept pretending everything was all right, and they weren’t about to walk into a situation where things could potentially get testy, would make this all seem normal. “We’ll buy a shit ton of clothes, make-up, shoes, jewelry, and be as silly as we want.”

Dany giggled and nodded vigorously as she was pushed into a slightly chilly morning. Maybe wearing a caftan wasn’t the greatest idea yet, but Missandei dashed back indoors to grab a blanket which she draped around Dany until she was tucked in like a rolled bun. Dany was sure to complain about this, much to her friend’s amusement. Missy deciding to take a selfie of both of them – with Dany pouting in her wrapped cocoon- only made her laugh louder. She vowed to send it to Jon and maybe Arya, but at the reminder that the younger woman was no longer around created a somber pall to ruin their good moods.

The drive back to the mansion was a quiet one, save for the poor canines who weren’t too comfortable being squished in the back seat. While trying to comfort them, Dany still couldn’t help worrying about what was to come. She had made the call to Davos once awake, a call that had brought the memories of her childhood rushing back with a vengeance. She was surprised she could say a word without sobbing through it all, but the older man had been patient and understanding. He listened to her every request and vowed to return with answers as soon as possible. He hadn’t bothered questioning her reasons for suddenly wanting to do this, and almost seemed too eager to assist. Had he always felt there was something ‘wrong’ with Jorah from the beginning? If so, why hadn’t he mentioned anything during their reunion? She knew those two had met since Jorah had ‘purchased’ the mansion from Davos and was responsible for them meeting in the first place. She had gotten no inkling that there might be no love lost between the two men, but then again, she hadn’t exactly been looking too deeply into such things, had she? She’d just been too happy to see a familiar face and to be back home, such little nuances were of little importance.

“Sam’s here,” Missandei announced as they pulled into the driveway, where they could make out the groundskeeper attending to the hedges with a rather large and noisy trimmer. He would turn it off as he noticed the vehicle, a wide welcoming grin on his ruddy features.

“Welcome home, Missus Dany and Missus Missandei,” he greeted with a tip of his hat. He laughed as the dogs bounded toward him in greeting before dashing off to run around the estate with pleasure. _Wide open spaces at last!_ They seemed to say. “I wondered where the little critters were. Kinda weird not to hear them barking when I came up this morning.”

“They needed a change in scenery,” Missandei replied with a smile. “How are you and the wife?”

As they engaged in small talk, Sam was just about to help Dany into her chair, when he was shocked into silence at her request not to bother. With his mouth and eyes getting wider by the second, he was rewarded with seeing his mistress taking her first tentative steps around the garden.

“It’s all so lo-lovely,” she praised as she stopped before a row of brilliant yellow daffodils. “It’s al-always hard to gr-grow flowers du-during winter, isn’t it?”

“Not if you got the right ones,” Sam managed when he could find his voice again. He puffed out his chest proudly, glad he could finally show off what he’d been working on all these months. “These are some great flowers to bloom in this weather. Got us some Daphne there…and over there is some Snow Drops, and right here we’ve got some Pansies…”

Dany listened as attentively as she could, while wondering why Jorah hadn’t made his presence known yet. Was he sulking enough to want to remain indoors…waiting for her to come running to him begging for forgiveness? Beginning to think he really was acting like a petulant brat, Sam would answer her unspoken query in the midst of his speech.

“…was just clipping the dogwood when Master Jorah left this morning, and he wanted the grass to-”

“Jorah’s not home?” Missandei asked as she and Dany shared a glance.

“Oh yeah,” Sam nodded. “Left for work pretty early I reckon.”

Well, it was a Monday, so it wouldn’t be unusual for such a thing to happen. If Jorah had meetings to attend to, then it was likely he would have left instead of pining around for her. Dany expelled a soft _whoosh_ of air in relief, her shoulders sagging as if glad to be rid of the burden it was bearing all this time.

It was a pity her relief would be short-lived, for once they were indoors, her phone rang almost immediately. It was Jorah again.

“He-hello?” she answered after a brief battle on whether or not to respond to it.

“Good morning, Dany,” came the warm greeting that did not betray any of the troubling stories she had heard the night before. This was the Jorah she was familiar with; the kind, warm, caring man she had come to know all these years. “I’m glad to see you are finally home.”

Dany frowned in bemusement. “Ho-how do you know that? I th-thought you were at work?”

“I am, I am,” he reassured her with a chuckle. “I also have the ability to see anyone coming and going from the mansion on my device. It’s a nifty little app that was set up while I had the security cameras installed. I’ve just recently had the opportunity to use it. Your safety is of utmost importance, princess. You know that.”

Dany could hear the sudden rush of blood to her ears, the deafening thudding of her heartbeat, and the realization that suddenly every nook and cranny of this place she’d once called home no longer felt safe to her. Shadows – and there were many – suddenly loomed menacingly and felt oppressive. A near-choking sensation of claustrophobia began to take root. Missandei must have noticed her distress, for she fell to her knees before the wheelchair and clasped Dany’s left hand; her features taut with concern.

“I-I know,” Dany found herself replying. Her voice felt detached and devoid of emotion. She wanted to scream. She wanted to get out of here. She wanted…she needed…

_Jon._

“Th-thank you for your con-concern,” she finished with a smile that felt thin and plastic.

“It’s no problem at all,” Jorah continued in that jovial tone that sent chills through her. “I will return as early as I can. I do have quite a few appointments to deal with including that meeting with Stannis. The sooner we get that bastard to come to a settlement, the better.”

 _I don’t care about it anymore,_ she wanted to berate him. _Leave it alone and leave **me** alone!_

“I lo-look forward to see-seeing you too,” was all she could manage, before ending the conversation quickly.

Suddenly breathing became difficult. She began hyperventilating, her hands waving frantically before her as Missandei did her best to soothe her agitation with words of encouragement. It would take several minutes before Dany could stop quaking, and when she was relatively calm, she rested her forehead against Missandei’s, eyes closed as she listened to her friend counting gently in time to her heartbeat.

“It’s all right,” Missandei whispered in Valyrian. “I’m here, my dear one. I am here. I won’t leave you, okay?”

Dany nodded. The words still lodged deep within her and close to setting off her panic again. Eventually, she would open her eyes and sign to Missandei of how Jorah was now literally watching her every move.

 _And what if he’s got cameras in my bedroom?_ She signed with tears in her eyes. _He might have done that without my permission! I’m like a prisoner in my own home…and this time it’s not of my own volition!_

“I doubt he’d go that far,” Missandei replied, but there was no escaping the doubt that had seeped into her mind all the same. There was nothing to prevent that man from going to such lengths, and it wasn’t as if she was good at spotting hidden cameras anyway. In the movies, they always made it seem like it would be relatively easy to find, but this was reality and in the real world-

“I sh-should tell Jon,” Dany began, but Missandei was already shaking her head.

“If you do that, you know he’ll come running down here immediately, and if Jorah sees that from his phone, the City Watch will be right on his tail and we’ll end up with a situation we don’t want. Jorah will use any excuse to have Jon locked up. Let’s just bide our time for now until we hear back from Davos, okay?”

Dany gave a reluctant nod of acquiescence, her desperate gaze drifting toward the clock where she hoped Time would be kind to giving her the answers she desperately needed.

 

* * *

 

Nothing had changed.

Not that it should have, but he was almost embarrassed to admit that he had not been in her room for a while; mostly because he was ‘banned’ from visiting whenever she was around. Her bedroom was her haven, and unless it was absolutely necessary, Jon had no business poking his nose in there.

_“What have you got in there anyway? A hidden porn stash?”_

_“Eeew gross! As if I’m as perverted as you!”_

_“So, what’s the big idea? Unless you’re running a drug ring from your room…”_

_“Just stay away,”_ the ghostly apparition of Arya said before dissipating into a gossamer mist. _“I’m warning you!”_

 _Sorry, sis,_ he thought with a rueful smile. _I’m breaking the law at this point, so sue me._

It was as large as his, but where he had kept up with the spartan décor, she had spruced things up to make it uniquely ‘Arya’. In protest to his rules not to re-paint the walls to a color she’d liked, she had chosen black blinds for her windows, and adorned her walls with posters of some of her favorite action-movie stars and athletes (mostly women who were in the professional mixed martial arts league). There was a large watercolor painting of Winterfell hanging above the bed; something she had found at a garage sale a couple of weeks after she’d moved in. It was painful to look at, and Jon had to wonder how she could sleep beneath such a gloomy reminder of a home that no longer existed.

_Or maybe **I’m** the coward still unable to come to terms with reality._

Turning away from it with a muttered curse, he studied each bedside table, with dual stained-glass lamps – another garish purchase from the garage sale – an alarm clock shaped like a kitten, two suspense-driven novels he had never heard of before, and a bag of liquorice she would never finish. The drawers revealed knick-knacks that were of no real importance, though he did pluck away a pin she had earned for having one of the highest grades in her first semester at college. He could still remember how proud she’d been of that achievement.

Her writing desk was devoid of anything worth taking. Only a few text books and a paperweight of a crystal howling wolf that wasn’t worth much. The bookshelf held more school-related material, several more Northern-inspired figurines – wolves mostly – and photographs of she and Jon during a vacation they’d taken to Dorne last year. Swallowing the lump forming in his throat, he peeled out the photos for safekeeping; his gaze lingering a bit too long on that smiling visage he loved so very much. With an effort, he focused on the rest of the shelf. There were video games, graphic novels, and some rather risqué reading material he couldn’t believe she’d be into. If seeing the magazines celebrating women loving each other wasn’t enough of a warning bell that his sister might be interested in other things besides Gendry (men), then this was definitely a revelation.

 _You were always full of surprises, Arya,_ he mused with a wry smile as he threw open her closet doors.  He sighed at the mess within, piles of clothing still on the floor, shoes not arranged in order, and a penchant for mainly dark clothing. Seven hells. With a shake of his head, he ignored the chaos and chose to start with the boxes at the top of the shelf. By the time he was through, all he could salvage was a box now filled with about three hundred gold dragons she’d saved up over time –

_Would have been useful for you and Gendry wherever you are_

…two photos of their family during the winter holidays (and Jon could only assume she had stolen them from Aunt Lysa’s collection), two diaries he didn’t want to read, and a blood-tinged charm bracelet she’d been wearing when the accident happened.

He searched beneath the bed, hardly surprised to find pairs of socks, some more magazines, and what looked like a plastic water gun lurking amongst piles of dust. Considering the maid he hired to clean up the apartment, every other week, had been banned as well from entering her room, was it any wonder it was in such a state? Dusting off himself with a grumbled curse, he headed for the bathroom, and not finding much to take away from there, he felt satisfied that he had done the best he could. All that was left was making sure it was in safe hands.

He prided himself on not sobbing like a baby through the emotional process, but it still didn’t stop him from curling up on her bed, about a couple of hours later, and staring at the large plushie wolf she had fondly called Nymeria.

“She should have taken you with her,” he whispered to the unblinking stuffed animal, before poking its stomach gently. “I bet she misses you like crazy.”

_Just as I do…every fucking minute…_

He had no idea when he dozed off, though he would vacantly recall his dreams being filled with running through the Wolfswood forest with a stuffed Ghost and Nymeria chasing after him, while Arya was dressed in a mixed martial arts outfit punching what appeared to be a giant effigy of a bear. Dany had just appeared as a naked nymph beckoning him for a quickie – on the Wall of all places - when the sudden loud banging from inside his head had him wincing in dismay.

 _Just a quickie,_ he’d beg as he willed the rapidly dissipating vision of Dany to remain in his subconscious. Unfortunately, the loud banging would continue incessantly until he lifted his lashes and groaned into the pillow.

_What…the…?_

“Jon? You in here?”

_Ty…Tyrion?!_

He sat up then, perhaps too fast for his head felt like it was bound to split open. He blinked away the weariness and tossed Nymeria to the side for fear the dwarf would wonder why he was sleeping with such a toy. Swinging his legs off the bed, he was just about to rise to his feet, when the door was flung open and he was face-to-face with someone he was in no mood to deal with…yet.

“Well,” came the sarcastic drawl of a greeting. “I hope you enjoyed your little nap, Snow. Though I’m surprised that beast of yours didn’t attack me the moment I walked in.”

Jon gave a mock salute, a smirk coming to his features. “Ghost is on a little vacation, and by the way a good…” He glanced at the clock and winced inwardly. Dear gods, had he been asleep for that long? The day was almost over. “Good afternoon, Tyrion.”

“More like evening,” came the sharp retort as the youngest of the Lannister brood sauntered into the room with a petulant expression. Dressed in a sharp black pin-stripe suit, he looked prime for a board room meeting instead of visiting the homes of wayward escorts.

For the umpteenth time, Jon couldn’t help feeling a bit sorry for the little man. While Cersei and Jamie had been blessed with all the beauty the gods could lavish on any human, Tyrion had been left with the scraps. Stunted in growth and cursed with features that were not likely to grace the covers of any magazines anytime soon, in a word, he was grotesque. However, it did not stop him from having a mind worth twice that of his physically-endowed siblings. If Cersei was the face of the family business, then Tyrion was the brains behind it. Jon was sure he was the real owner of _The Night’s Watch_ , and all Cersei had to do was wield her most powerful weapons to the general public; an incredible body and a venomous mouth.

“I got your lovely text this morning,” Tyrion continued with a smile that only made his twisted features more disgusting. “Usually I’d ignore it and assume you were having another of your…diva-like moments, and the gods know I have to put up with that shit when it comes to Jamie…but this! Jon, my dear boy, you are breaking my heart.”

“I’m crying inside too,” Jon replied as he ran his fingers through his hair and tried to stifle a yawn. “So? What’s my punishment to be?”

Tyrion made a sound that was between a snort and a sigh of exasperation. Clasping his hands behind him, he paced the bedroom; his critical eye observing everything with that keen sense of awareness that could be slightly unnerving. He stopped before the shelf showcasing some of the trophies Arya had won in her martial arts tournaments.

“How long have we known each other, Jon?” Tyrion asked in a deceptively conversational tone. He picked up a trophy and turned it over in his hands. “Three? Almost four years now?”

Jon shrugged. “Just about.”

“And through all that time, have I not been a staunch defender of your cause to my pugnacious sister? How many times have I had to step in for you, hmm?”

“You’ve been a guardian angel, Tyrion,” Jon replied with a smile. “A veritable saint.”

“Don’t patronize me,” came the low hiss of fury. The trophy was slammed so hard upon the shelf, the carved golden figure in mid round-house kick wobbled and toppled to the floor in protest. “Do you think I enjoy listening to her rant on and on about you or anyone else for that matter? How do you expect me to go up to her and tell her that you’ve decided to ‘quit’ just like that?”

“Because I figured you’d be able to put in a good word for me and remind her of just how much I’ve done for her all these years.”

“You signed a fucking contract, Jon Snow. Ten years of your life to this business, remember?”

“And I’m regretting every damn minute of it-”

“This is because of a woman, right?” Tyrion interrupted; his intelligent emerald eyes bright with an eagerness that was troubling. He stepped closer to Jon and smiled. “This is all about Daenerys Targaryen, isn’t it?”

Jon kept silent, but Tyrion was not to be deterred.  The dwarf clapped his hands and looked pleased for some reason.

“Jon, Jon, Jon. You don’t have to be rash about this at all. I can understand your reason for wanting to quit. Any man in their right mind would want to give this all up to have a chance at living with such a beauty like her, but you forget that you can have the best of both worlds! Nothing stops you from continuing to do your job-”

“Do you honestly think I can continue to do my job when my heart completely belongs to someone else now?” Jon asked incredulously. “You’ve seen how shitty things have been lately, and it’s only going to be worse. I can’t do it. I know there are other escorts who can juggle both worlds, but I can’t. I’ll be doing not only a disserve to the woman I love, but to the clients who expect complete dedication to the job. I’m no use to any of you anymore.”

Tyrion stared long and hard into the unflinching grey eyes before him for a long minute before frowning in thought. “This is serious, isn’t it?”

“Very.”

“You have no intention of budging no matter what I say, do you?”

“No, sir.”

Tyrion’s lips thinned in displeasure. He spun on his heels and paced toward the window. With a frustrated tug of the rope, the blinds flew upwards to reveal a pleasant view of the King’s Landing skyline.

“My sister will not take this lightly, Jon,” Tyrion warned. “For whatever reason you are quite important to her. I’m sure Renly wouldn’t mind stepping into your position since he’s been vying for it for so long, but Cersei is not the kind of person to let this go easily. Have you considered that she might do something to harm your dear loved one?”

“Arya?”

Tyrion rolled his eyes. “Daenerys.” He looked about the room and smiled coldly. “Something tells me that your dear sister is no longer going to be a leverage against you. Slipped away while we weren’t looking, eh? Clever. However, Daenerys is still around, and if I know Cersei like I do, she’ll want to do something to punish her for getting in the way.”

Jon gave himself a mental pat on the back for not revealing the alarm that laced through him at this. It had been a fleeting thought; that Cersei might seek her revenge by using Dany, but that was something that only happened in really cliché movies, right? She wouldn’t go that far over something as stupid as him choosing to no longer sell his body and time to other women…would she?

“Oh, she would,” Tyrion stated as if Jon had asked the question out loud. “Cersei’s thinking can be quite…odd. If she’s truly provoked, she can go for the dramatic even if it means dragging your name through the mud until you can never show your face anywhere in Westeros again. She can be one vindictive bitch.”

“Couldn’t you try talking some sense into her?”

That, for whatever reason, sent Tyrion bursting into gales of loud laughter, so much so, he had to whip out his handkerchief to wipe the tears streaming down his face. When he could speak again, he chuckled and plopped himself onto the lone chair in the room. He crossed his legs and studied Jon with a pitying expression on his visage.

“Are all Northerners this hilarious?” he asked. “You really all can’t be this naïve, can you?”

Jon bristled at the condescending tone, but figured it wouldn’t be best to lose his temper now. His goal was to get Tyrion to be his buffer to Cersei, but if that didn’t work –

“Cersei only listens to me because she’s forced to. Left to her, I might as well be a cockroach invading her precious personal space.” Tyrion sighed and stared balefully at the ceiling. “If there’s anyone you want in your corner, it’s that brother of mine. She’ll listen to him…mostly. So, if for some reason, you really want things to go your way, get him to understand your plight and let him make the pitch. I’m not groveling before Cersei anymore…at least not on your behalf.”

He hopped off the chair and reached out to pat Jon’s right knee as if offering some form of pitiful comfort. “Jaime’s back in town, and he’s got an off night, so you can speak to him. I suggest you do that quickly as time is running out. My dear sister got a rather interesting call today, and coupled with your text…let’s just say her mood is not exactly cheery at this time.”

Jon frowned. “What call?”

“Let’s just say there was a concerned customer, that’s all.” Tyrion glanced at his watch and made a show of looking aghast. “Would you look at the time? I must be heading off. Unlike you, I’ve got a long line of men just dying to pick up what you’re tossing away. She better be worth all this trouble, Jon Snow. I do hope for your sake that she truly is.”

And with that cryptic warning, Tyrion waddled out of the apartment with a loud slam of the door behind him. Jon might have wandered how he had gotten in at all, but recalling that a man like him was likely to gain entrance into this place should have been no surprise. All the same, Tyrion was right. He had to see Jaime no matter how revolting an idea that was.

He could only hope it wouldn’t leave him with a sour taste afterwards.

 

* * *

 

She was still clad in Missandei’s caftan even while stuck in bed, though she had the covers pulled up to her neck as she attempted to read a supposedly riveting tale of mystery and intrigue by one of her favorite authors. Pity her current situation was mimicking such an improbable plot. She was still embarrassed at the suggestion that Missandei search her room for anything ‘odd’ before entering it. She was sure her friend would have rolled her eyes and tried to talk her out of doing any such ridiculous thing, but both women soon found themselves nearly turning everything in the room inside out in the quest to find a device that looked out of place. After nearly an hour of chaos and the poor dogs not quite sure why the humans were being so weird, they settled for Jorah being decent enough not to have stepped over the line.

She still had intentions of subtly bringing up the topic should she ever get around to asking about it. Besides, there was no guarantee he’d even tell the truth if he did have the place bugged so –

_So, stop thinking and worrying too much about it! Keep this up and you’ll end up being even more paranoid than usual, Daenerys Targaryen._

Fortunately, a welcome distraction would come in the form of a text from Jon, though his statement about going to see Jaime Lannister was quite confusing. Why rendezvous with the enemy? At her query, he explained the need to have Jaime on his side should Cersei become combative. He also mentioned Tyrion’s visit and how he was the reason for this decision. Jon didn’t have to spell it out, but Dany was sure he was only doing this out of concern for her safety. Jon was Cersei’s cash cow, and losing him was going to be a huge dent on her earnings. What better way to keep him around than to get rid of the cause for his impromptu decision to quit? Using Dany as a ‘lesson’ was a sure way to keep Jon indebted to her indefinitely. It was a cruel thing to think of, and Dany wondered if Cersei could truly be that evil enough to choose such a route.

 _But then again, I’ve been having a hard time reading people lately,_ she mused as she flipped to the next page of the book. _Just when you think you know someone, they show you a whole other side you least expect._

“Aaaand here’s an early dinner,” Missandei declared as she swept into the room with a tray of steaming white rice and rich lamb stew. “Hope you’re hungry, young lady.”

“St-starving,” Dany replied with a grin. She tossed the book aside, sat up, and rubbed her hands eagerly. “Sm-smells delicious.”

“As it should,” her friend bragged as she set up the bed stool and set the tray on it. “Now eat up before you-know-who calls again. He hasn’t called again, has he?”

Dany chuckled and shook her head. Jorah had, seemingly, been checking in on her every hour since they arrived. He was still stuck in meetings, unfortunately, so he might be returning home late. Which the girls didn’t mind at all. However, just as she was about to spoon some rice into her mouth, her phone rang again. Dany rolled her eyes and prepared to ignore it, or at least delegate Missandei to speak this time around, when she noticed the name showing on screen.

 _Already?_ That was faster than she expected.

She grabbed the device quickly, her heart a snare drum within her chest. “He-hello? Davos?”

“The one and only,” came the familiar warm gravelly voice she loved. “I didn’t catch you at a bad time, did I?”

Dany stared at the tray of food still waiting for her and shook her head quickly. “Of co-course not. Please sp-speak freely.”

“Well, it’s quite a bit I’ve got to say, but I need to show you some things too. Perhaps we can set up the Face Time? Yes?”

Missandei had to chuckle at how Davos had pronounced ‘the Face Time’ as if it was some technological advancement he could not decipher, but as she helped Dany clear away the tray and look a little more presentable, they gave him time to set up the feature. Soon both found themselves staring at the wizened features of a man they hadn’t seen in quite a while.

Dany couldn’t resist kissing the screen in greeting, earning a blush and laugh from the older man. How she had missed him.

“I miss you too, my lady,” Davos said with a hand upon his chest and a nod of his head in homage. “Perhaps we shall be seeing each other quite soon…especially when you’ve heard all I have to say.”

At this, Dany and Missandei exchanged a look of concern. They turned back to the screen, where Davos was now sliding on a pair of reading glasses and thumbing through some documents in his hands. His features had taken on a pensive and studious expression, and if Dany had felt a low level of panic earlier, it was now ratcheting up at an alarming rate. Still, she had to keep herself composed for whatever she was about to hear.

“So, I did find some information on our dear friend, Jorah Mormont,” Davos began warily, but stopped long enough to peer at them over the rim of his glasses. “He’s not around, is he?”

“Not yet,” Missandei replied. She looked at the antique bedside clock. It was almost seven in the evening. “But I think he might be returning soon.”

“Then I must hurry,” Davos said with a nod. He frowned again. “I will admit I had my concerns when he first approached me last year about purchasing the mansion. I had heard some stories, but always considered them as mere rumors. Besides, if you had your utmost confidence in him, I felt I had no right to question your judgement. All the same, I had no idea you were still alive, my lady, and was shocked to hear you had been living in Braavos all this time. I still blame myself for not being more diligent in my search for you, but word of Viserys’s death had reached us, and I feared the same fate had happened to you.” He looked up again, his eyes filled with regret and misery. “Perhaps if I had known, I would have spared you the suffering you experienced.”

Dany waved her hand in dismissal. She wanted to reassure him that he had nothing to apologize for, and settled for signing instead.

“You are too kind, my lady,” he said with humility when Missandei was done translating. “But I will go ahead. Time is of the essence. Mr. Mormont is indeed a son of the North. From the great House Mormont of Bear Island. Unfortunately, he was exiled for indulging in acts that were considered…well, let’s just say he wasn’t particularly welcome back after they discovered what he was up to.”

“What was that?” Missandei asked warily.

Davos took a deep breath and sighed. “Human trafficking.”

“Hu…human tr-tr-trafficking?” Dany repeated as if hearing an alien phrase. Didn’t that mean…?

She looked to Missandei who, despite her dark features, was ashen at this news. Dany was more than aware of Missandei’s terrible past, including being a product of said human trafficking after the civil war in Naathi. Her family had been murdered at the hands of the rebels, but Missandei’s worth as a slave was much more lucrative to the raiding slavers that swept through the devastation.

“Yes, the slave trade,” Davos explained unaware of the distress it might have been causing the women. “He became quite popular…at least amongst the Dothraki. He was able to purchase slaves from the furthest continents and trade them for goods and services in Essos. Perhaps it was where he heard of you and then…made a deal for your release from the _khal_.”

“He said he was a _businessman_ ,” Missandei sputtered angrily. “That was what he told us. He said he was a goddamn businessman who only traveled around the world! Something about dabbling in real estate and agricultural products, right? Wasn’t that what he said, Dany?”

“I doubt a man like that would be willing to share his true vocation with you at the time,” Davos replied gravely.

“He lied to us!” the Naathi raged with a pound of her fist on the bed. “He stood there smiling and lied to our faces! How many bodies did he have to sell to get us released? How many lives did he ruin just to get his hands on his next new shiny toy?”

“Missy…” Dany began soothingly, despite the thundering in her ears, but Missandei was now sobbing; harsh angry sounds that echoed the ones frozen within her heart.

She could still see Jorah as he had appeared to her in that cave; dressed in traditional Dothraki leathers as if he had always been a part of them, yet different. Her strong, Westerosi savior had smiled at her with reverence and warmth, promising her a life of new beginnings and experiences while hiding the true ugliness behind her freedom.

Missandei had every right to be furious and in despair. Only Dany knew of how humiliating and horrifying her friend’s experiences had been traveling from one foreign land to the next, being beaten or raped by men who saw her as nothing more than barter. And yet, this same woman would whisper her plans to start up a campaign against human trafficking while trapped beneath the depths of Vaes Dothrak.

_“When I am rich enough…when we get out of here, I’ll work towards that, and you’ll help me, won’t you, my dear sister. Together, we will fight against it. We will expose the injustices taking place and make them pay. Just you and me against the world.”_

Dany had listened with her mouth and eyes wide open in awe. She had thought Missandei so strong and amazing then and wished that her dream, to make the world just a little bit better, would eventually come true. Unfortunately, after their release, neither had kept the promise to begin the campaign…mostly due to her inability to interact with society. With Missandei’s complete focus on her recovery, saving the world would have to take a back seat.

_But that was then…and this is now._

If there was any trigger for them to get back to the promise they’d made in the cave, Jorah Mormont had given them a reason to do it.

She reached for Missandei’s hand and clasped it tightly. “Th-this is no ti-time to shed any tears,” she stated firmly; her gaze hard and unrepentant as she met the wet brown ones before her. “We-we ha-have to use this for the better, all right? We _ha-have_ to. Remember?”

“I apologize if I have triggered any terrible memories,” Davos said with a downturn of his lips. “It was not my intention.”

“Pl-please con-continue,” Dany urged with a wave of her hand. “Wh-what else did you learn?”

“Right.” Davos held up the documents, which was pointless as Dany couldn’t really make out what they said. “You mentioned about Dragonstone and negotiations in regard to purchasing it from Stannis Baratheon, did you not?”

Dany nodded, reaching for the napkin on her tray to wipe Missandei’s cheeks gently, before cuddling her friend within the crook of her arm. “Ye-yes, I did. Wh-what about it?”

“Well, I actually have been working with Stannis for some time now – mostly to help with the running of Dragonstone – and when I asked him about it, he told me he has only spoken to Jorah Mormont once…and that was back when he approached me at the mansion…almost a year ago.”

Dany blinked in confusion. Missandei, who was gradually calming down, looked just as puzzled.

“Th-that can’t be right,” Dany finally said in a voice that sounded cold yet harsh to her. “He-he’s been in ne-negotiations. He’s sh-shown me documents. He sa-said-”

“I don’t know what documents he’s shown you, but I would know if anyone has been in negotiations with Stannis especially regarding Dragonstone. Stannis is not the kind of man to lie about something like that, especially when he knows of my history with you. If I had any inkling you were interested in gaining control of the castle, my lady, I would have done everything in my power to help speed up the process. He’s got a lot of investments around the world, and trusts me to keep an eye on your castle for him while he’s away. I can assure you, my lady, we have had no visits, phone calls, or any representatives from Mr. Mormont since then. I’m terribly sorry.”

_Lies._

“If it’s any consolation, he does have a legitimate business under the ‘Mormont Investments LLC’ banner, and it deals with the shipment of goods all around the world. However, my source is still gathering information on a company called ‘Golden Bear Enterprises’ which is tied to his name. They claim to be affiliated with the hospitality industry – lodgings, theme parks, transportation, hotels and the such, but so far all leads seem to conclude that it’s a sham business where slush funds are collected from investors,” Davos continued with a shake of his head. “If that’s the case, then our dear friend might still be engaged in activities that are of the illegal kind. I have a damn good mind of calling up the Bureau to have him investigated, my lady…but only with your permission of cour -”

Dany had heard enough.

_Lies._

She pulled aside the blanket, with jerky impatient movements, and swung her legs off the bed.

“Da-Dany…?” Missandei called out uncertainly.

_All lies._

She rose unsteadily to her feet, nearly tripping over Drogon, but managing to steady herself against the wall before grabbing onto the hand rail.

“Dany where are you going?”

_Lies! Lies! Fucking lies!_

Missandei, in a flash, was there to help, but with a strength she didn’t know she possessed, Dany shoved her sister away, sending the Naathi stumbling back to the bed with a surprised cry. They could vaguely hear Davos’s voice of concern in the background, but Dany was too far gone in her fury and disappointment to care.

_Viserys. The khal. And now Jorah. I’m sick of it. Sick of all the fucking lies!_

Holding onto the wall and wooden rails, she continued her labored journey toward the door, which was still ajar.

(“I do have quite a few appointments to deal with including that meeting with Stannis. The sooner we get that bastard to come to a settlement, the better.”)

_How many more times do I have to put up with this?_

She grabbed the door handle and took another step forward.

(“Short of you going in person to speak to Stannis…he’s not budging, Dany. I really don’t know what else to do.”)

_You lying fucking…creep!_

He had made her think Stannis, and indeed the Baratheon Corp, was the enemy; an immovable object determined to keep her from claiming Dragonstone. She had believed his carefully crafted tales of doom and gloom despite her optimistic insistence never to give up. How often had he done this to her without her knowledge? Sure, there were the negative tales of the opposite sex and his attempt to convince her no one in the world was right for her, but to think he had wielded his power into her financial ergo her family affairs as well? That was too much! What if he had been lying about just how much he was worth? What if he had been using _her_ money for his personal gains? Or even going as far as continuing his illegal human trafficking while hiding under the Targaryen banner? How much of a fool had she been to trust him completely?

All her life it seemed she had chosen to remain docile while the men took over; all deciding what was right or best for her, while she remain shielded behind a prison of her own making, never finding the strength to fly. For a harrowing moment, a grotesque mishmash of their faces; Viserys, the _khal_ , and Jorah – morphed into a towering shadow of despair that threatened to crush her into submission all over again. These men had taken so much from her through the years, leaving her a shattered mess to pick up the pieces.

 _Not anymore,_ she seethed as she stepped out to the landing and clutched the railing until her knuckles were white with the pressure. _I am different now. I have a voice. **Someone** wonderful has given me a voice, and by the gods, I’m going to use it if it’s the last thing I do._

Just in time too, for she could hear the front door opening and the familiar jovial greeting from a man she now loathed with every fiber of her being, filtering up the stairs.

_Welcome home, my dear Jorah._

Heralded by an ominous silence, it wasn’t quite the homecoming he had been expecting. For as Jorah Mormont began to climb the stairs, and looked up with a ready smile on his features, it would fade ever so slightly at the sight before him.

It might have been something out of the pages of a dramatic movie finale, or an improbable apparition in all its magnificence, for _standing_ on the landing, draped in a gown he’d never seen her wear before, surrounded by her three most precious (now growling) bodyguards, a frowning dark-skinned female guard in the background, and an impenetrable aura of fury, was Daenerys Targaryen in all her glory

– truly the last living _dragon_ of the most fearsome family Westeros had ever known.

 

* * *

 

Jaime had sounded too casual in the text message – almost as if he had been expecting Jon to contact him in the first place. Had Tyrion given him a heads-up already?

 **Sure,** Jaime had written. **I’d love to see you. 7 ok?**

Seven was fine, although Jon ended up arriving ten minutes late thanks to the GPS deciding it had no idea where 43 Gold Way Estate was, just off Lion’s Gate Road. After several misses, Jon would finally discover the exclusive suburb hidden amongst a man-made forest of weirwoods and sentinels. If he knew anything about its history, he’d know that this was the location where most of the Lannisters (well those from the Westerlands) had come through and settled into centuries ago. It was no wonder Jaime would want to live in this location. For a man who prided himself in being ‘modern’ and ‘chic’, seeing this traditional home and its rather picturesque gardens was jarring to the senses. Jon had expected a practical steel-and-concrete tower with the latest in technological advancement, not this cozy affair.

Or was this just one of the many Lannister country homes he was inhabiting for a while?

“You’re late,” the golden-haired devil drawled lazily as Jon stepped out of his car.

Jaime was leaning casually against the front door, giving one a rather pleasing glimpse of the warm interior and its exquisite furnishings. The smell of something delicious wafted through the air, making Jon wonder if he had caught the other man in the middle of dinner. Dressed in a pair of jeans and a cashmere sweater, that did little to hide his enviable physique, Jaime pushed himself away from the door. He ran a hand through thick flaxen locks that framed his handsome visage and broke into a warm smile.

“Traffic that terrible?”

Jon scoffed and jogged up the short flight of steps. “My GPS hates your location apparently.”

He reached out for a polite handshake, but was quickly grabbed into a bear hug that lasted just a little too long for his liking. The smell of food was replaced with the rather pleasing scent of fresh pine and sandalwood, and the troubling sensation of just how… _happy_ Jaime was to see him.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it, Jon?” Jaime rumbled in his ear, and much to Jon’s chagrin trailed his lips against it in the barest of kisses before pulling away; the grin still on his face. His olive-hued gaze was anything but innocent as he absently brushed away a stray curl from Jon’s forehead. “It’s good to see you again.”

 _And I think I’ve made a very big mistake coming here,_ Jon thought with an inner groan while giving a wan smile and pulling away from the embrace. _This could turn out to be a really bad –_

Yet he knew he’d have to grit his teeth and bear with this for as long as he could manage it. He was here for only one reason, and though there was the distinct possibility that Jaime could do something to embarrass or humiliate him, perhaps it was a small price to pay if it meant being able to convince Cersei to let him off the hook without much of a fuss.

_Especially without hurting Dany._

“Same,” was all he could manage, before clearing his throat. “Uum…listen. I don’t know if Tyrion tol-”

“What are you still doing out there, Jaime?!” came the sudden shrill interruption that had both men stiffening for completely different reasons. There was a brief flash of irritation on Jaime’s features before they creased into polite disinterest as he replied without tearing his gaze away from Jon.

“Talking!”

“To who? Who’s out there?!”

Jon felt his blood run cold as steady stiletto-induced footsteps were heard before an all too familiar figure approached. With her hair not in its usual matronly bun, it trailed down her back and framed her features in loose curls of golden silk. She was dressed to the nines for some reason; the shimmering red gown clinging to every curve and enhancing a heaving bosom accessorized with a ruby necklace that couldn’t have cost less than a million gold dragons at the least.  She was nursing a flute of champagne within her right hand, the glint of the gold rings on the fingers nearly blinding.

For a heart stopping moment, brilliant emerald eyes held Jon’s grey ones as if just as surprised at his presence, before settling into that familiar cool look of disdain (and perhaps smug satisfaction) as her lips curled up in a sneering smile.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the second-best slut I have working for me,” Cersei drawled with a pointed appraisal of her ‘merchandise’ before eyeing her twin balefully.

“Well, don’t keep him standing out there, Jaime,” she clipped with impatience, before spinning on her heels to toss carelessly over her shoulder.

“Let him in. We’ve got _a lot_ to talk about.”

 

 

 

 

 

 


	15. Breaking Chains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy cow, this turned out longer than I thought *lol*  
> Which means, I've had to break it into two chapters.  
> So, make your cup of hot cocoa, wrap yourself in a warm blanket, and soak it all up.  
> There's a lot to digest, but I hope it's worth it.  
> Enjoy! *bows gratefully*

_Thanks as always to the wonderful[Anitah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anitah/profile) for the moodboard! _

 

* * *

 

“Wine?” came the sleek query.

“No, thank you.”

“I’ve also got very good vodka-”

“No, really. Thank you. I’m fine.”

“Or perhaps beer? If that’s your preference-”

“It’s okay. I don’t really want anything-”

“Or perhaps a cup of tea-”

“For the gods’ sake, Jaime, he says he doesn’t want anything,” Cersei finally snapped as she spun away from the mini-bar where she had been refreshing her glass with what appeared to be straight bourbon on ice.

She downed it in a gulp and glared at her brother, who only indulged her with a patronizing smile before settling into one of the many comfortable chairs within a living room that could only be described as Lannister Opulence. If the overwhelming theme of maroon and gold wasn’t enough to tell you of its owners, the towering oil painting hanging above the massive polished stone hearth would have been a dead giveaway.

Featuring the now late, but once powerful patriarch, Tywin Lannister in the middle; his intimidating striking figure in uniform (complete with red cape) was surrounded by his family. There was his wife, Joanna, with her beautiful heart-shaped face and flowing golden locks – propped primly in a chair holding onto what one could assume was Tyrion as a baby. However, the artist had been ‘kind’ enough not to put too much emphasis on his disfigurement thanks to being wrapped in a golden blanket. On either side of the parents were the ‘chosen ones’; Cersei and Jaime, probably in their early teens – looking every bit the perfect poster children in ballgown and morning suit respectively. They weren’t particularly smiling, if anything Cersei had a smug expression on her visage –

 _Not much has changed over the years apparently,_ Jon thought wryly.

…while Jaime looked bored and distant; his gaze trained on something the artist would never be able to quite capture with his brushes.

“We didn’t actually sit for that damn thing,” Jaime drawled when he noticed what had Jon’s attention.

“ _You_ didn’t,” Cersei corrected as she dragged herself away from her favorite corner of the room to sit beside Jon; something he wished she wouldn’t have done. He had chosen the love seat for its rather small size, but Cersei was finding a way to squeeze herself into position; her alcohol-drenched breath, mingled with the intoxicating scent of rosewater, nearly making his eyes water. He had to reluctantly admire her tolerance for drinking. Those brilliant green eyes still flashed with clarity, and as she raised the glass to her lips, they remained hawkish on him as if hoping he wouldn’t disappear just yet.

“Jaime sat for only an hour and then bolted,” Cersei continued with a roll of her eyes. “I wanted to do the same, but would they let me? Noooo. The golden son could do whatever he wanted, but if I dared do the same, I was scolded and lectured for hours on not being perfect enough. Fucking double standard.”

“Ah…” Jon wasn’t quite sure of what to say. This wasn’t exactly the discussion he had hoped he’d be having at this point.

“The painting is a lie,” Jaime explained. His gaze was trained on it, and Jon could swear there was a cynical smile on his lips. “Mother wasn’t even alive when this was painted, but my father was always a stickler for keeping things ‘traditional’ or whatever bullshit he spewed back then-”

“And since he hated Tyrion so much, he decided to keep him in his baby state instead of his true age at the time,” Cersei added with a snort of derision. “He blamed Tyrion for killing mom, so instead of having him pose like the rest of us, he was relegated to being hidden in a golden swaddle.”

Jon winced, the picture now being seen in a whole new light. What had once appeared to be an innocent family portrait now seemed burdened with layers of hate, guilt, and a family already divided amongst itself. He tried to recall if any of the Stark family portraits had been that depressing, but then again, they hadn’t been that big on doing such things. The only painting of the entire family was not quite as large as this, and Jon was even lucky to be added. He could still remember eavesdropping on Catelyn and Ned arguing over the decision to have him a part of it, and the gods knew he would have rather not been there…but sit he did in his best suit with (thankfully) Arya for company during the arduous ordeal.

“But enough talk about our blasted family,” Cersei stated as she leaned forward to put away her glass. She returned to his side, but only to throw an arm across his shoulder, her fingertips trailing along the collar of his shirt as she studied him with an intensity that was unsettling. “Perhaps you might want to begin explaining to us just what you meant by your decision to quit. It’s not a word I like very much, Jon Snow.”

_Here we go…_

“It’s not something I wanted to do either,” he began quickly, “but-”

“Then don’t!” Cersei effused with her eyebrows raised as if astounded at his confession. “My goodness, Jon. You make it seem as if you’re the first man to have ever felt intense feelings for a client. If you know how many men have come to me with the same problem, we could be here all night.” She tapped his cheek gently. “You are not in a unique position, my darling. This is fairly common, and I’m here to tell you that if this is just about falling in love, then this whole thing can be solved easily.”

“What…?”

“You know about Yronwood and Xho, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Jon replied with a nod. “But Jalabhar’s giving up by the end of the year-”

“He is, but he was in it for over seven years _after_ he married his wife,” Cersei reminded him with a smile. “And they were quite happy. In fact, he told me that being in this job made his marriage even stronger. They were able to get through a lot of difficult times _together_. Isn’t that what he said, Jaime?” She called out to her brother who had his eyes closed and appeared ready to doze off.

Jaime lifted a hand in acknowledgment resulting in an exasperated grunt from his twin. Muttering something beneath her breath about him being such an a-hole, she turned her attention back to Jon.

“And dear Cletus,” Cersei continued with her smile returning. “He’s getting married once that woman of his finally pops out the little brat. Do you think he’s going to quit anytime soon? No. And do you want to know why their relationships work despite everything?”

Jon took a deep breath, knowing what was coming.

“Their _partners_ ,” Cersei replied with smug satisfaction. “They had _understanding_ partners. Partners who weren’t going to be possessive bitches like…well like yours…I’m assuming.”

“She’s not possessive,” Jon began, though the sudden memory of Dany’s warning at the concert and thereafter rang through his mind.

_(I want you all to myself! So, take that as you will!)_

Powerless to stop the rush of heat to surge through him, he feigned his discomfort by lowering his head and rubbing his chin in thought.

“Oh, please,” Cersei interjected with a scoffed laugh. “We are talking about a Targaryen here. Aside from the alleged prone to bouts of madness, it’s not uncommon for them to want to hoard anything they assume is theirs. In this case, our little Miss Handicap assumes she owns you now. I’ll bet she offered to buy you out, didn’t she?”

Jon prepared to lie, but a quick glance in her direction caused him to rethink that decision. She already knew.

“Typical,” Cersei said with a sigh of long-suffering. She leaned back on the sofa and stretched languidly, allowing Jon a reluctant view of seductive curves with every writhe of her body. For a woman of her age, she really did know how to take care of herself. One could give her that much at least.

She smirked when she caught him staring, and taking advantage of his vulnerability, she pounced. Leaning closer again, her warm breath tickled the curly strands of hair framing his ear and cheek.

“She’s just like every other rich bitch who has made the same offer to me,” she crooned huskily. “Trust me, Jon Snow, you have left a lot of women wanting you for themselves which makes our Miss Handicap-”

“ _Stop calling her that,_ ” he finally roared, finding the strength to rise to his feet and away from a woman clearly determined to get her way. Or perhaps it was just the sensation of her hand upon his lap that had done the trick.

Either way, the distance between them now gave him some clarity, and as he towered over the siblings, now watching him with varying degrees of interest; more annoyance on Cersei’s end, Jon took another shuddering breath and squared his jaw in determination.

“I wish I could say this was just a passing phase, Cersei,” he began firm as he could possibly manage without losing his temper. “And maybe the other escorts with girlfriends, wives, and families are happy continuing to work in such an environment, but I can’t. I won’t do it to Dany. My feelings for her are such that the idea of even being with another woman is sickening. I know, the gods know I am breaking a sworn oath and a contract, but I am more than willing to suffer the consequences. I don’t care what punishment I have in store, just as long as you please keep Dany out of it. If I have to keep paying you off for the rest of my life-”

“Pfft! You’ll _never_ pay me off,” Cersei sneered as she rose with feline grace to her feet. Fully expecting her to either hit him or worse, she only spun on her heels to head back to the bar. Grabbing the entire bottle of bourbon, she unscrewed the cap angrily while shaking her head in disgust.

“Assuming you even took the time to read the fine print of our contract,” she continued in a tone that was akin to standing in the middle of Winterfell during a snow storm. Despite the gentle flickering flames from the hearth, it might as well have been negative fifty degrees in the living room now.

“You’ll find that a breach of it – aside from losing your sister – though my sources tell me that she’s apparently no longer with you. I’d be willing to hire the best detectives to find her within a week, but to be honest, she’s the least of my worries. Even your precious Targaryen is not my concern. She can continue existing as a half-being for all I care…”

Jon bristled at the insult, but held his tongue.

“…it’s you that’s going to be a problem, Jon Snow.” Forgoing the glass, she drank straight from the bottle, pausing only long enough to give an unladylike belch, before pinning slightly glazed emerald eyes in his direction. “You signed away ten years of your life to _me_. That’s a lot of revenue I’ll lose with your decision to walk away now. Do you have any idea how much I’ve already invested in you? What you’ve made in these past three years is hardly a drop in the bucket of what you owe me and what you’re going to cost me when you leave! I have a fucking waiting list of clients just begging for you, and some have even paid _in advance_! Do you expect me to just pick up the phone and go ‘oh, sorry. But it appears my number two escort has fallen in love and cannot be expected to work any longer. Goodbye and have a nice life.’ Is that what you want me to say?!”

“Cersei-”

Moving so swiftly, he wasn’t even given the time to think or react, she was on him again, her fingernails digging into his shoulders as she all but latched on with a desperation that was almost pitiful if not frightening.

“I don’t care if you want to be with the Targaryen,” she moaned and rest her forehead on his shoulder. “Hell, I don’t care if you continue living in the penthouse and call your sister back…you can still work for me, Jon.”

“I won’t be much of an escort, Cersei,” Jon replied quietly into the mass of thick golden curls against his lips. “You’ve already seen how poor my work performance has been lately-”

“It’s a phase,” she whined and raised her head to peer at him with -to his genuine surprise – actual tears in her eyes. “It’s only a phase. It will pass. You’ll see.”

“Cersei-”

“I could make this hard for you,” she spat coldly, pulling back but just far enough to try to glare him down despite the wobbling of her lower lip. Jon was sure this was more of the alcohol talking. The shifting mood swings were hard to keep up with. “I could make you suffer for the rest of your life, you know.”

“I know,” Jon said with a small smile. “I came to King’s Landing with nothing anyway.”

“You’re making a big mistake!” she screamed and pounded his chest. “You know you are! Besides, that idiot who called me mentioned something about not wanting you to be with her anyway.”

“That…idiot?” Jon frowned.

“Oh, dear gods,” Cersei groaned and flopped against him again, her voice muffled against his chest. “What was his name again, Jaime?”

“Jorah Mormont,” Jaime replied with a shrug. He was standing up now to stretch and yawn. “He’s the one you should be concerned about. Looks like he’s threatening to take her back to Braavos or at least get you arrested or something of the sort.”

Jon’s jaw worked, his hands forming tight fists. His concern for Dany now was tenfold, and a quick glance at the grandfather clock showed that it was almost nine. Jorah was probably back home and was now-

“Do you want us to take care of him?” Cersei slurred. “We can take care of him, you know.”

“What do you mean take care of him?” Jon asked incredulously.

Cersei lifted her head, a sloppy smile on her face. “Men like Jorah Mormont think they can control their puppets. I’ve seen assholes like him a thousand times. Look…if we take care of him, will you remain working with us?”

“If you’re thinking of killing-”

“Hah!” Cersei snorted while Jaime chuckled and shook his head.

“We don’t have to kill him,” her brother explained. “There are many other ways to ruin one’s life.”

“So, all you have to do is keep working for me,” Cersei cajoled as she traced the outline of his jaw and ran her finger through the dark growth of his beard. “And we’ll get rid of the nuisance, and you and your…non-handicap girlfriend can live happily ever after. Deal?”

Jon sighed, his shoulders sagging with the weight of his decision. He rubbed a hand over his eyes and looked over Cersei’s head to Jaime who was watching him with an inscrutable expression. This wasn’t what he had expected. He had expected rage, ranting, raving and possibly being kicked out with threats of death and damnation chasing after him. Instead, he was dealing with a woman who was clearly distraught over this and with the heaviness of her head upon his shoulder…

_Huh? Is she snoring?_

Jon looked down in disbelief. If it wasn’t for him reaching out to hold onto her waist, she just might have slumped to the floor.

“I’m surprised she lasted this long,” Jaime said with a small smile. “She’s been at it since she stormed in here complaining about you. And that’s about four hours of steady drinking.” He walked up to untangle his sister from Jon, and effortlessly, he lifted her into his arms. “Hold on a minute, will you? I need to put her in bed, and I’ll be back.” As he began making his way upstairs, he stopped long enough to toss over his shoulder. “Help yourself to something strong. You look like you need it.”

He disappeared leaving Jon to make his way to the quite impressive liquor selection they had. He winced at all the used glasses and empty bottles sitting on the counter, Jaime’s words about Cersei’s distress giving him pause.

_Four straight hours, huh?_

He hated to even have to consider this, but perhaps in some roundabout perverse way…she actually _cared_ for him more than she wanted to admit.

This wasn’t just about working for him. She could have Renly in his position in a heartbeat if she wanted. Hell, she was under no obligation to save his ass after the bar fight that night. She could have her pick of any man that came crawling through the doors of the Night’s Watch, yet she had made an exception for him. In her weird, obsessive, callous way, she had been a makeshift ‘mother-figure’ to him during these past three years.

A thought that was rather disconcerting.

He popped open a can of beer and paced to the window to stare out the maroon velvet curtains to a backyard that could rival Dany’s. Speaking of Dany, he wondered if she was doing all right. He was just about to dig into his pockets to leave a quick text message, when he heard Jaime returning.

“How is she?” Jon asked politely as he tucked away the phone.

“She’ll live,” came the amused response. “She’s had worse days. She’ll wake up with a raging headache, have a dose of her pick-me-up, and be back to being a bitch in no time. So, cheers.”

He had helped himself to a beer as well, and both men toasted and stared glumly at the expanse of muted green and skeletal trees beneath a charcoal sky.

“She cares about you,” Jaime finally said after what seemed like an eternity. Without looking at Jon, he continued quietly. “It’s odd to say that, but she does. I don’t know what she saw in you that night, but she’s… _different_ with you.”

Jon kept silent. Hearing his assumptions being voiced did not make things any easier.

“It’s not something that we broadcast to the world as it’s no one’s business,” Jaime continued, “but losing three children is never easy for any woman, and it took her a long time to realize she was doomed to be childless. Maybe she sees the Night’s Watch as her means of raising her sons…well, to sell their bodies…makes it sound twisted, doesn’t it?” Jaime laughed bitterly.

“You don’t always look like you enjoy it,” Jon observed with a raised brow.

“I don’t,” Jaime admitted easily. His broad shoulders lifted in a shrug. “Left to me, I’d rather be sailing on a yacht somewhere on the Narrow Sea. But this was a business she was determined to see as a success, so she needed my face…and body of course.” He took a long drought of his beverage. When he spoke this time, his voice shook slightly. “It was hard to come to terms with it. Just like you, the thought of being with any other woman besides Cersei was revolting. I know the rest of the world looks at us as freaks for being involved in such an intimate relationship, but that’s the way it is. I love her more than life itself, Jon Snow, and if I could take her away from all of this…that would be my wish. She’s not as happy as she thinks she is. And losing you…you who she sees as an extra special ‘son’…it’s much harder than she thought it would be.

“As it is for me,” he finished softly, now turning towards Jon, but only to brush away the tendrils of hair which had fallen across the younger man’s forehead. Jaime’s smile was so tender, Jon felt embarrassed at the warmth to surge through him.

“I do care for you as well, Jon,” Jaime confessed. “Perhaps carnal desires slip in once in a while, but for the most part…I’d rather have you as my number two than anyone else. And should the day come when she finally comes to her senses and decides to give it all up, I would have gladly stepped aside to let you take over the number one spot, which you rightly deserve. But…alas…seems like your feelings for Miss Targaryen have made you a different man.”

Jon’s heart sank and he lowered his head. “Jaime-”

“I know it’s been hard for you lately, but all those times watching you get jealous over me and wanting my position was quite a pleasure to witness. I miss that Jon Snow.”

“I don’t,” Jon replied with a wry smile. “I seemed too self-involved and indulgent.”

“No,” Jaime stated with a shake of his head. “You were merely doing what any young man would do when finally living a life he had always dreamed of.”

“Was that really the kind of life I wanted?” Jon mused as he looked out the window again; no longer able to sustain staring into those warm green eyes. “I mean…I was only living a sham. Even Arya knew I wasn’t really happy.”

“And you are now? With Dany?”

Jon paused and bit his lower lip. Finally, he gave a nod. “Yes. I know it sounds weird but…when I’m with her, I feel like my life is worth living again. I’ve always waded through it like it was nothing more than a chore, something to get through…at least I did that while I thought Arya was dead. But I’ve now got two women who make Life something wonderful to behold and explore and with Dany…I want to see the world just as she does. She makes everything seem so new and exciting and…”

He stopped talking when he realized how lovesick he sounded. Blushing hard, he ran his hand through his hair and cleared his throat, before mumbling something akin to ‘that’s all I wanted to say’ into his beer can before downing the rest of it.

Jaime, who had been studying him in silence, said nothing, though there was a smile just hovering at the corner of his lips.

Eventually, he’d respond with a quiet. “I hope you at least have a good lawyer ready.”

Jon blinked. “Huh?”

“When Cersei is back to normal, she’ll hold you to her vow to make you pay somehow,” Jaime mused with a rub of his chin. “I’ve read your contract, and there are no loop holes you can wiggle out from. Basically, if you choose to breach it, you’re looking at the possibility of paying her for the rest of your life – as in whatever job you get elsewhere, all your revenue goes to her – that or possible incarceration.”

“What?!”

“The gods bless Westerosi laws,” Jaime said cynically with a raise of his beer in a toast. “She can be that brutal, but perhaps…I can convince her to at least lessen the time you work for her. How about one more year?”

“Jaime…come on,” Jon pleaded.

“A year isn’t that much to ask, is it? If I can get her to give you one more year, isn’t that a good enough deal? What’s one year to a couple who are so desperately in love…supposedly. Surely your relationship can survive it.”

Jon groaned and squeezed his eyes shut in disbelief. “I don’t know if I can do it…if _she_ will agree to it.”

“If she loves you as much as you think she does, then she’ll have to. Of course, all this depends on if Cersei actually agrees.” Jaime shrugged and drained the rest of his beverage. “Let’s hope my cock is powerful enough to soften her up a bit…in more ways than one. Either way, get that lawyer of yours on standby, and in the interim, keep to your current schedule and do all you can to not fuck things up. That’s the best I can give you.”

He tossed the empty can into the sink and yawned. “So? If we’re done here…”

“Right,” Jon muttered dejectedly as he discarded his can and began heading toward the front door. As he shrugged into his jacket, his mind raced with how he could begin to convince Dany to such a proposal…again depending on if Jaime was successful. And then there was the problem of finding a decent lawyer. The one currently working for him had a few other escort clients, and personally, Jon didn’t think he was all that great. Reeds was a slime ball, and only in it for the money.

“Don’t look so glum,” Jaime said with a gentle squeeze of Jon’s shoulder. “Try to look at the positives-”

“What positives?”

“…you’ve still got a girlfriend who loves you.”

Jon rolled his eyes despite the smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, but wait ‘til she hears about this. Don’t think she’ll be too happy, but we’ll see.”

“She’s yet to unleash the famous Targaryen dragon on you?” Jaime taunted as he opened the front door and began walking Jon to his car.

“Not yet,” Jon replied with a laugh. “Don’t need to see that even if it’s a real thing.” He stopped long enough to pump Jaime’s hand in a firm shake, glad he wasn’t dragged into another hug again. “Thanks for everything…really.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Jaime warned with a smile. “Things could go south quite fast.”

“Well, let’s hope your dick doesn’t fail you in this most important task.”

Jaime chuckled. “It hasn’t failed me yet. Goodnight, Jon Snow, and my regards to Dany.”

He would remain waving at Jon even as he continued to make his way down the driveway until he was nothing more than a dot in the rearview mirror.  Say what you will about Jaime Lannister, he was just one walking mass of contradictions all around, wasn’t he?

Shaking his head, Jon couldn’t help reliving what had turned out to be a fascinating evening. He tried to hold onto the idea that Cersei wasn’t planning on doing any harm to either Arya or Dany, but if it did boil down to him having to work for only one more year just to get his freedom…that was better than nothing at all, wasn’t it?

Unfortunately, any other opportunity to delve into this conundrum was shattered at the text message to suddenly light up his phone.

**Please come to the mansion if you can, Jon. I need you.**

 

* * *

 

When mute, her senses had been heightened. Sight, touch, smell, sound, and even taste, had enabled her to view the world in a tunneled vision. For those few humans she came in contact with, her silence was compensated with studying and analyzing every other facet of what made them interesting or worrisome.

Pity they had failed her in the simple task of evaluating the man now attempting to climb upstairs.

_Don’t you dare come any closer!_

Her children growled in warning as if sensing her unspoken request.

Jorah froze on the bottom most step and reconsidered his decision.

 _I must speak slowly,_ she coached herself with a deep inhalation of breath as if hoping to suck up as much air into her lungs as possible. _I must not let him speak over and around me._

“Dany?” he called out, a brow arched in confusion. His initial mask of worry was now replaced with feigned innocence. “What’s going on? Is everything all right?”

A tone she had once considered kind and warm was now akin to dragging sharp fingernails across a board. She clung onto the railing and watched the play of light and shadows across his features, and not for the first time wondered how he could be a fellow northerner like Jon Snow. She wouldn’t consider Jon ‘delicate’, but compared to Jorah’s girth and sometimes gruff mannerisms, it was easy to see why his people were from so-called ‘bear country’.

 _He can be intimidating if he wants to be, but I am not afraid,_ she told herself as her fingernails dug grooves into the polished wooden surface. _I will not be afraid._ _Even if he tries to –_

“Dany?” he tried again, and this time the smile that had hovered around his lips seemed strained; the first signs of his annoyance beginning to creep in at being treated like a stranger or an unwanted guest.

_Which he is anyway, isn’t he?_

“If there’s something you wish to discuss with me, then please get on with it,” Jorah insisted with a shrug of his shoulders. “I’ve had a tiring day at the office and really need to take a hot bath and-”

“Sp-speaking to Stannis Baratheon perhaps?” she finally asked in a voice she barely recognized as her own. Perhaps only those who had known of Rhaella Targaryen might have been the most shocked at the tone; that hint of softness yet icy edge she would tend to get on the rare occasions she was vexed. Perhaps if Viserys were still alive he might have marveled at seeing the ghost of their beloved mother consume the soul of a sister he thought he knew. Perhaps that was what had Jorah going a slighter shade of pale even as he tried his best to maintain his mask of quiet indignation.

“I did try contacting him, but he apparently left for a trip to Myr,” came the calm words spoken so effortlessly, the two women might have let it go as they usually did.

Missandei made a sound that was between a snort and a muttered curse, but held her peace even when Jorah threw a puzzled glance her way.

“It’s a shame,” Dany continued, a sad smile coming to her visage as if to sympathize. “You work so hard to try to get his attention and he continues to ignore you. I wonder why?”

“The Baratheons have always been that way,” Jorah replied with a wry smile. “Trying to get through to them is like wading through quick sand. One step closer and they back away with some sly trick. It’s impossible to get through to a man like Stannis. But not to worry, my princess, I won’t give up. In fact, once I’m sure he’s back in town, we – you and I – will go to his offices together. I know I keep putting it off, but this time around, we’ll definitely see him face-to-face.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Jorah blinked in bemusement. “I beg your pardon?”

Dany shrugged, her smile now tight. “I said it no longer matters, Jorah. I have no interest in purchasing Dragonstone. In fact, I’m quite content leaving it in Stannis’s care. He’s done a great job so far, why ruin a good thing?”

Jorah looked flabbergasted, or perhaps he was pretending, who knew at this point? “Are you serious? It was all you could talk about while we were in Braavos,” he cried out. “You kept harping on and on about getting the castle back in your family’s name and now you’re suddenly deciding not to pursue it? Why the hell did we come back to Westeros?”

He tried to take another step forward, but Drogon, Viserion, and Rhaegal had now positioned themselves at the top of the stairs, canines bared as if daring the man to come any closer.

Jorah gritted his teeth and gripped the bannister until his knuckles turned white. “Did someone talk you into this decision?” he finally asked coldly. “Someone tried to sway your mind, yes? Perhaps that man you seem to care about? The one you spent the weekend with?”

“Leave Jon Snow out of this,” Dany warned. “Besides…”

She sneered and held her head higher until she appeared to be staring him down condescendingly. “You are the one who doesn’t seem too eager to help me get my birthright.”

“What are you talking abou-?”

“I am talking about your _lies_ , Jorah Mormont,” Dany interrupted with a slam of her fist on the railing. “Every fucking thing out of your mouth is nothing but a lie.”

His features were now ruddy with outrage. He couldn’t believe his ears. Who was this woman daring to insult him in such a manner?

“I don’t know what that bastard has told you,” he growled, “but I will not stand here and listen to you talk to me like that after everything I’ve done for you!”

“How much?” she asked with ice dripping from every word.

“What on earth are you rambling about now?” came the exasperated retort.

“How much was I worth when you released me from Vaes Dothrak?”

Jorah opened his mouth to dismiss that when something about the expressions on both women’s faces told him otherwise.

 _They know,_ he thought with growing alarm. He could feel something heavy and frozen settling in the pit of his stomach. The sudden urge to wet himself was a humiliating thing to experience, but he did his best to keep his bearings as he faced the condemnation in those blazing violet orbs.

“I did what I had to do at the time,” he finally replied quietly but firmly. He ignored the slight tremble in his voice, yet hated how weak it made him sound at the same time. “It was all I could do to get you out of there, and trust me it’s not something I’m proud of. In fact, that was the last time I engaged in the practice. I swear it, Dany.”

“How many?”

“What-?”

“How many people did you sell for my freedom?”

“I hardly think that’s important right now-”

_“How many?”_

Even Missandei had to take a step back at the forceful demand. She had never seen her friend like this. Coupled with the realization that Dany had not stammered since the interrogation began, it was a little difficult to reconcile the woman standing before her. _This_ was what Dany was always meant to be. If she had lived as normal a life as possible, who knows how far she would gone with such inherent power surging within her all this time? Jorah was just as awed, for he was now beginning to shed a little more of his bravado. Beads of sweat broke out on his brow, and he licked his lips slowly.

“Dany, I swear to you-”

“Do not make me repeat the question.”

“Fine! You want to know how many bodies it took?” he finally blurted out in frustration. “Over a hundred. One hundred and sixty-three to be exact. Young women and boys from as far as Asshai and the Shadowlands! I had traveled all over fucking Essos to find them, but when I heard of the infamous ‘white devil’ living in Vaes Dothrak, I had to see it for myself. I struck the deal and set you free! If I had known I’ll be treated like this-”

“Don’t do that,” she cut in with a hand held up to silence him. “Please don’t try to make me feel guilty for your sins. It is beneath even a person like you.”

She felt sick to her stomach. Hearing the number of humans sold in exchange for her ability to stand here today was even worse than she had thought. How had they felt at the time? Had they wept and gnashed their teeth as they were led into captivity? Had they pleaded for their lives? Were even a half of them still alive today? Missandei’s barely audible sob was almost enough to weaken her resolve, but she had to finish this. She couldn’t back down now.

“I have changed, Dany,” Jorah was saying. He had given up trying to come upstairs and was now walking toward the middle of the foyer, his gaze lifted up imploringly. How small and pathetic he looked from her vantage point. She felt the wave of nausea rising to her throat and she had to close her eyes for a moment to gather herself.

“I am no longer that man who sold slaves. I’ve changed and it’s all because of you. Seeing you in that cave made me realize what a sham of a life I’ve been living. I’ve given it all up, and I was determined to make you better…to show you how the world could really be. I know you’re upset now, but if we can just…speak calmly…privately, I’m sure I can convince you to rethink your decision.”

“I have thought about it,” Dany replied as she lifted her lashes. “A lot of times…when in my silence you thought I was immune to things around me. What you failed to notice was that in my silence, I was paying attention, perhaps not as much as I should have when it came to you, but enough to make me wonder if you really were all you claimed to be. I confess it pained me to learn that I could only get to see the world through your eyes, but I am grateful…so very grateful that I’ve come to see otherwise.

“Perhaps in your way, you thought you were doing what was best for me. Yes, you got me the best therapy and you gave me my three lovely children here…but did you ever wonder why you were _really_ doing all this for me? Were you simply doing it out of genuinely wanting me to be healthy, or were your ulterior motives to completely own me taking precedence?”

Jorah was shaking his head in denial. “That is not true at all-”

“You made me think of a world where only _you_ were right and where only _you_ had the authority to decide what was best for me. I was desperate for love of any kind and so I listened to you and did everything I was asked as a good girl would. Between you, Viserys, and the _khal_ …I was never given an opportunity to find out who I really was. Who I _could_ be. Do you understand that, Jorah?”

“I only had your best interests at heart, Dany. I lo…I love you. Surely you know that.”

“You love an image of what I could be. You love a person you could shape and mold to your desires, and I fell for it. We both fell for it.”

Jorah ran a trembling hand through his hair. His eyes had now taken on a slightly crazed look as he stared around him perhaps wondering where the hell he was. This couldn’t be his life. This had to be a nightmare, and he fully expected to be pinched and awakened from it. This simply couldn’t be real.

“You are sick,” he finally said loudly. He looked at her and laughed; a loud bitter sound that was jarring to the senses. “That’s all it is. You’re clearly sick. I’ll put in a phone call right away to Maester Dustin and-”

“You are the one who’s mentally unstable,” Missandei stated coldly as she stepped up to stand beside Dany. She could see that whatever spirit or energy that had kept Dany standing and speaking so eloquently was slowly draining away. Dany’s knees were beginning to buckle and the railing was her only saving grace. If Jorah was to get a whiff of her vulnerability, he would pounce without question. She knew she’d have to distract him until –

“I’d rather you didn’t speak to me in that tone, Missandei. You forget your place!”

“Yes,” she sneered and scoffed. “Just like one of those slaves you purchased, right? That’s all you’ve ever seen and regarded me as. Dany’s personal slave. _Your_ personal slave.”

“Isn’t that what you are?”

“ _How dare you?_ ” Dany hissed, angry at the imminent sensation of tears forming in her eyes. The last thing she wanted to do was to start crying, but she was beginning to feel emotionally spent.

“Dany, please listen to me,” Jorah cajoled, his voice taking on that patronizing tone of concern that was grating on the nerves. “You are tired. I can see you are. It’s been an emotional time for all of us, and you just need to take your medications and get some-”

A sudden anomaly of lights flooded the interior of the house, and for a moment all parties were bewildered at the sight. The dogs began barking in earnest at the front door, and even before the intercom buzzed at the presence of new visitors, Jorah realized exactly what was going on.

“What is…what is all this?” he roared. He spun on his heels as if hoping to dash toward the door, but chose otherwise. He whirled back to the women, his dark eyes bright with fear and anger. “You called…you bitches called the City Watch?!”

Dany hadn’t, but a quick glance at her friend was all she needed to know of what must have happened while she had left the room earlier.  

“Yes, we did,” Missandei replied smugly. “We couldn’t take any chances.”

She turned to Dany with an apologetic look, whispering beneath her breath. “I’m sorry, but it was Davos’s idea. He told me to call them just in case something happened and-”

“You are insane,” Jorah breathed harshly, before roaring. “You are both insane! If you think you’re going to-”

Whatever else he might have said was interrupted rudely as the front door was all but kicked open and a stream of about six officers dashed into the foyer, weapons brandished as if in readiness for a full-on shoot-out.

“What the hell did you tell them, Missy?” Dany whispered back in disbelief. “Don’t they usually knock and ask for p-permission?”

“I might have embellished the situation just a little bit,” came the feigned response of innocence.

“Is this the perpetrator?” the captain, who looked quite dashing in his uniform of white and gold, asked as sharp blue eyes took a quick survey of the scene. Hardly waiting for the women to respond, he was already on Jorah. “On your knees, sir!”

“What in seven hells is the meaning of this?” Jorah cried out even as he was pushed onto his knees and forced to place his hands behind his head. “I have my rights! This is an outrage!”

“We got a call of breaking and entering,” the captain explained as he withdrew a pair of handcuffs. “And by your description, you fit the bill.” He looked up at the women with a raised brow. “Am I correct?”

Dany, who was watching the proceedings – for the other officers now seemed interested in checking out the rest of the house much to the dogs’ annoyance, as their barking grew louder – took a deep breath to compose herself. Everything was now happening too fast. Her head felt like a spinning top about to wobble off its anchor.

“This is a mistake,” Jorah was saying. “Tell them it’s a mistake, Dany. Please! Don’t do this to me!”

 _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so-so-sorry,_ her inner voice screamed, and despite her better judgement, the tears did finally break free to flow silently down her cheeks.

“Miss?” the captain called out again, rather impatiently this time. “Is he the one we take away?”

“Dany…” Missandei whispered with a gentle squeeze of her shoulder. “You have to do it.”

_IknowIknowIknowIknowIknow_

“Ye-yes,” she finally whispered just loud enough for the message to be made clear. “He is the perpetrator, and I no longer need him in this house…or in my life.”

 

* * *

 

Jon would arrive to see a lone City Watch car sitting in the driveway.

He couldn’t exit his car fast enough, every warning bell going off as he nearly tripped over himself in the quest to dash into the house. The text he had received had sent his imagination into overdrive; from Jorah doing something insane like shooting them all down or perhaps burning the house to the ground. No scenario looked promising, and despite his attempts to call them, neither women had picked up their phones.

“Dany?! Missandei?!” he called out the moment he stepped into the foyer, only to find himself staring into hard dark eyes and an unsmiling visage.

“Stop right there, sir,” came the curt command. “And you are?”

Drogon would respond with a happy bark as he bound downstairs and all but shoved the officer to the floor in his excitement to see Jon again. Viserion and Rhaegal ran out of the kitchen with Missandei in tow, and the officer, obviously now understanding that Jon was no threat, tipped his hat politely and stepped aside to continue his guard duties.

“What the fuck is going on?” Jon asked when he could finally manage to detangle himself from the dogs. He gathered a very surprised Missandei into a bear hug, never gladder to see the beautiful Naathi alive and well. He pulled back and studied the amused features. The woman looked weary, but otherwise unharmed.

“Long story,” she replied and pet his cheek fondly. “But I think the person you really want to see is upstairs. In her art room.”

He didn’t need to be told that twice. Bounding up the steps two-at-a-time, he would almost barge into the room with his heart still somewhere in his throat. He knew it was ridiculous to assume that she was hurt – since Missandei was okay – but Jon still had to see it for himself; to touch and hold onto Dany just to appease his troubled thoughts.

Seeing her seated on the floor, however, digging through a box of what looked like a rainbow-hued pile of tulle and lace, was not exactly what he had in mind.

“Dany…?” he croaked in disbelief. “I-”

“Oh! Y-your fi-finally here! I w-was trying to s-see if I co-could sew something again,” she replied with a bright smile as she noticed his appearance. She held up a roll of lace. “It’s be-been a long time si-since I…mmmphhff!”

Not knowing whether to laugh or cry or to simply melt into the sensation of his lips ravishing hers, Dany gave up trying to figure which reaction to give in to as she discarded the lace and wrapped her arms tight around his neck. She made no protest as she was pushed onto her back, their lips still joined in a familiar dance they could never get enough of. However, when both realized it was beginning to taste a little salty, Jon would be the first to release her reluctantly, their breathing shallow and ragged as he studied her flushed and teary features.

_Oh, Dany…just what the hell happened?_

She shook her head slowly, not trusting herself to speak at the unspoken question in his eyes. She grabbed fistfuls of his jacket and tugged him closer to claim his lips again. In due time, she would tell him everything, but for now, she wanted to kiss away the pain of realizing just how big of a step she had taken in her life. She wanted to kiss away the sorrow caused from having to severe ties with a man she had trusted and perhaps loved in her own way. She wanted to kiss away the haunting sound of her name being wailed from his lips as he was taken out of her home, with the probability of never seeing him again. No, she wanted to no longer think of those things. She wanted to relish in this moment, with _this_ man who was now going to replace what was lost…she hoped.

And as she heard the faint rustling of the caftan sliding impatiently up her hips, as well as the familiar slightly calloused sensation of those strong hands against her thighs and hips, she arched willingly into him and sobbed brokenly into his mouth.

“Take all of me, Jon Snow. Make me forget.”

It was a request he was all too happy to fulfill.

 

* * *

 

A balmy late afternoon found them sitting on the edge of the repaired pier with bare feet dangled over the turquoise-blue waters of the lake, the next day. Behind them, amongst the rushes and bushes on the bank, Drogon and Viserion hunted for squirrels or the occasional heron, with Rhaegal every now and then trying to get wet and darting back as if afraid of the gentle licks of water kissing his paws.

“Such a scaredy cat,” Jon teased as he noticed the malamute repeat the gesture for the thousandth time. “Doesn’t look like he’s ever going to be as comfortable as the others when it comes to swimming.”

Dany chuckled and rest her head upon his shoulder, her arms wrapped firmly around his. “St-stop picking on Rhaegal, you meanie. He’s y-your son anyway, so you should be more un-understanding.”

“What?” Jon had the grace to blush at the insinuation. “He isn’t-”

“He li-likes you the best, so between he and Ghost, you might have p-problems.” She paused for a moment with her brows furrowed. “Where is Ghost a-anyway? All by himself at the a-apartment?”

Jon shook his head and placed a tender kiss to the top of her head, which was done in a twin set of thick braids making her look years younger. “He’s with a good friend. Tormund. Remember him?”

“Ooh…the b-big red guy.”

Jon laughed at that description. “Yup. The big red guy. I gave him all my important belongings…for now. Until things are straightened out anyway. I was sure Cersei would send her goons to raid my apartment, and I wanted to get a head start and protect what was most personal.”

Dany looked up at that. “W-What things are s-straightened out? Is it about your v-visit to the Lannisters? Y-You didn’t tell me m-much last night.”

“I think we dozed off in mid-conversation,” Jon replied with a small smile. “Besides, after all that shit you went through with Jorah…it’s a miracle you had any strength left for a third go-around…hey!”

Dany had punched his shoulder playfully; though her blushing features were too adorable for him to deal with. “Yo-you w-wanted a thi-third go around,” she protested while trying not to giggle as he worried her neck like a puppy wanting kisses from its mother. “Y-you are in-insatiable, Jon Snow.”

“I’m going to be needing a walker with how demanding you are,” he countered back with a grin, while making a show of rubbing his lower back. “So, stop trying to paint me as the nymphomaniac.”

He would suffer more of her playful punches before silencing her with a kiss that left her weak-kneed and wondering if they could steal another quickie before Davos’s arrival. Dear gods, but she was already getting wet again.

“W-we need to st-stop,” she panted and pushed him away, doing her best not to stare into those heated grey eyes and those moist swollen lips likely to make her strip naked in a heartbeat. “We s-still need to talk about what h-happened with the La-Lannisters.”

At the sound of that name, the lustful glaze faded from Jon’s eyes. He sighed and sat back, his gaze now trained on the furthest point of the lake where a motorboat could be vaguely seen through a fine mist.

“It’s going to be complicated,” he finally muttered before launching into the tale of everything that happened. Like Dany’s stuttered recount of how she had learned of Jorah’s deceit to his arrest, even telling her of his escapades with Cersei and Jaime sounded like something from the pages of a novel. It seemed too surreal to try to explain how Cersei had displayed a moment of ‘humanness’ or the revelation of her having lost three children and her attachment to Jon. Revealing Jorah’s attempts to thwart their relationship with a call to Cersei caused Dany to scowl in disbelief, but at least she could take pride in the knowledge that he was no longer going to be a part of her world.

 _He will take legal action of course,_ she had confided in him last night. _He’ll probably be out on bail tomorrow, but I doubt he’ll want to show his face around me. I already have a restraining order in place. I’ll send him all his things of course. In the interim, Ser Davos will be returning to the mansion to live with me. He says he’ll also bring Mrs. Frey. I can’t wait for you to meet them, Jon. I’m sure you’ll love them as much as they’ll love you._

Well, that was the feel-good moment of the entire thing, and Jon did look forward to seeing them eventually, but as he finally got to the point of discussing his ‘deal’ with Jaime…of course with the caveat that said deal was approved by Cersei, Jon tried not to hold his breath in worry.

“He says if he can at least get her to agree to me only working for one more year, that wouldn’t be such a bad idea. It takes off the risk of me being behind bars for however long she intends to keep me there-”

“B-But it could be a t-trick,” Dany argued weakly, while trying to push away the feeling of dread creeping up her spine. “What if s-she says ‘oh, only do one more year’ and then s-she t-turns around and a-adds another extra year-”

“That’s why Jaime suggested I get a good lawyer who can draw up the contract and make it legit.”

“Don’t you have a law-lawyer already?” Dany asked incredulously.

“I do, but he’s kinda sleazy,” Jon admitted with a groan. “I need someone who can look Cersei in the eye and not put up with her bullshit. But aside from that…” He turned fully to her, tucking his legs beneath him as he focused his attention on her regal profile. “What would you say if I accepted the deal to working in the business for one more year?”

Dany could feel the intensity of his stare, and trying hard to ignore the flood of color to her cheeks, she lowered her gaze and worried her lower lip in thought. She had, perhaps naively assumed that things would be that easy between them now that Jorah was out of the picture. She had also known how improbable it would be for Jon to just walk away from the Night’s Watch without repercussions. She had fallen in love with a man who still kept other women happy, and though she had accepted that at first, it was still hard reconciling the knowledge that she would still have to share him despite their feelings for one another.

“It’s…it’s not a matter of wh-what I want,” she whispered against her chest, while forming knots with her hands upon her lap. A sudden gust of wind almost had the rest of her words lost in transit. “Wh-what do you want to d-do, Jon?”

“What do I want to do? _Not_ do it that’s for sure,” Jon replied quietly. He leaned forward to rest his forehead upon her shoulder, sighing in gratitude as she lifted a hand to caress his cheek gently. “It’s going to be hard, but-”

“Bu-but we are getting ah-ahead of ourselves,” Dany reminded him. “Ce-Cersei hasn’t ev-even agreed to this yet.”

“Yeah,” Jon whispered with a brush of his lips against the cotton cloth of her long-sleeved blouse. “All the same, I would feel really good if you gave me an idea of how you’d deal with it, should it ever come to that.”

Dany reached for his hands to clasp them upon her lap. She was just about to give him a response when they heard their names being called. They looked up and behind them at the same time, noticing Missandei jogging toward them with her hands waving in the air.

“What’s she saying?” Jon asked with a raised brow. “There’s some people with her though…”

Dany was already rising unsteadily to her feet, her features bursting into such pure joy, to match the tears in her eyes. “It’s Ser Davos and Mrs. Frey! They are here, Jon! Come on!”

“Hey, hey! Easy, Miss Stormborn,” Jon called out as she took several excited steps forward before remembering she had been wheeled outdoors. With a pout of resignation, she sank into the chair and allowed herself to be pushed back to shore, only to bound out of the seat and straight into the arms of the wizened man – probably in his late sixties – laughing and hugging her in kind. The same affection was given to the portly woman of about the same age, though with her ability to lift Dany nearly off her feet did not betray it. Her ruddy, wrinkled features were wet with tears, and both Jon and Missandei could only stand aside and watch the happy family reunion as all three tried to talk over each other.

When they were finally able to break apart, Dany held onto both Davos’s and Mrs. Frey’s hands and placed them within Jon and Missandei’s. She stood between them – her two worlds one might say – and felt her heart swell with an emotion she never thought she’d ever feel again. Oh, if only her Grandpa Aemon could be here to see this.

“Ser Davos Seaworth, Ms. Cynthia Frey, I’d like you to meet Jon Snow and Missandei…and Drogon, Viserion, and Rhaegal…stop trying to nibble her, Viserion! She’s not a bone!”

This had them erupting into laughter as handshakes, hugs, and kisses were exchanged all over again.

Jon already liked Davos on sight, and that feeling seemed mutual as the older man was quick to engage Jon in polite conversation about his interests and vice versa. Dany could only watch them with giddy pleasure, feeling like a daughter who was eager for her fiancé to please the father.

But she was getting ahead of herself.

“This house needs a good dusting!” Ms. Frey complained once they were back indoors. She was already tying a headscarf around her head and searching for her apron. “I know ye call in some professional maids and what not, but blimey, they don’t know these ol’ corners like I do. Come on, Sarah! We’ve got some scrubbin’ to do.”

Sarah being Ms. Frey’s granddaughter – a mousy shy girl of fifteen – who was more than happy to be of assistance. Sarah’s parents – Frey’s daughter – had been involved in a car accident that took their lives three years ago. She had raised Sarah all by herself since then, and it was no skin off her back to do so.

“Well, she’s welcome to stay as long as she likes,” Dany enthused. She was just happy to have another female she could be with if Sarah could eventually break out of her shell. “We’ve got plenty of bedrooms.”

“The servants’ quarters where we used to live is all fine with us,” Mrs. Frey insisted as she pinched Dany’s cheeks and then stopped long enough to study Jon who had been staring at her with fascination. “So, I’m guessing ye’ll be the new master around the house, eh?”

“Oh no, no, we’re not…” Dany and Jon began stuttering in denial at the same time, causing Mrs. Frey to roll her eyes and gather up her bucket and mop.

“Not yet, they say,” she mumbled as she waddled upstairs with a flustered Sarah in tow. “Next thing ya know, we’ve got babies, real ones mind ye, running around the place. Got to prepare for that eventually.”

She would continue muttering something about finding cribs and baby clothes before her voice got lost in one of the rooms.

“Seven hells, is she always like that?” Jon asked as he mock wiped his brow.

Davos laughed and nodded. “You should see her after a good meal. She’s likely to lecture you to death. And speaking of which…we do have some things to discuss, don’t we friends?”

They moved to the living room, where Davos fell easily into stories reminiscing the past and all the adventures they had there. He didn’t much like Jorah’s modern-day contributions, but was glad to see most of the ‘old things’ were still intact. Dany shyly offered to entertain them with some music, and as Jon assisted her onto the piano seat, the years rolled back as she was ten again, a cold sunlight filtering through the thick curtains to bathe her in a surreal glow. Davos was sure that if he closed his eyes, he would see Maester Aemon sitting in his favorite armchair, milky eyes warm with appreciation at the soothing sounds of his favorite tunes.

However, instead of the familiar hunched figure of his master and friend, in his place was a much younger man; a man who had clearly stolen the heart of the woman he had come to regard as a daughter. Dany had spoken highly of him in their brief conversations, and it was easy to see and feel the love the young couple had for each other, even in the briefest of touches and glances. She was happy. For all she had suffered and been through, it was only fitting she finally be with at peace with herself even if it had come at a cost.

“That song always gets me teary-eyed,” Davos admitted once Dany was done playing _Two Hearts that Beat as One_. It was one of his favorites and brought back memories of his beloved Marya. “Beautiful as always, princess.”

She blushed and rose to her feet carefully, before attempting to curtesy despite being dressed in a pair of jeans. “I’d ask Jon to p-play something for you, but he’s not particularly got an ear for m-music.”

“Hey! Is that supposed to be an insult?” Jon pouted even as he helped Dany into position on the love seat. Her kiss to his cheek was meant to soothe his wounded pride, and when he continued to mock pout, she looked to Davos for help.

The older man chuckled at their playful antics and shook his head. “Makes me wonder why I even bothered coming here. You two seem just fine.”

“A-Actually, it’s not all fine,” Dany said with a small smile. “But f-first…anything from Jorah?”

“He has a hearing this evening,” Davos confided. “Bail has been set for almost two hundred thousand gold dragons, which he should be able to pay comfortably. I will have someone gather up his belongings and send them to the detention center or wherever he hopes to stay. Will you sue him?”

Dany shared a look with Jon before sighing. “I re-really do-don’t want to deal with anything too complicated ri-right now. If he-he wants to put up a fight then I have no choice, otherwise, I just want nothing more to do with him.”

“And Dragonstone?” Davos prodded. “I did speak to Stannis, and though he’s still on the fence about giving up the rights to it, he is willing to sit down to discuss profit sharing and-”

Dany waved a hand in dismissal. “I will w-waive on that-”

“Are you sure, Dany?” Jon asked in surprise. “I thought it was something you wanted to do. Keep it in your family name and-”

“It is _always_ g-going to be a Targaryen castle, Jon,” Dany reminded him with a smile. “No matter what c-company overtakes it. Dragonstone is and will be a p-part of Targaryen history even when I’m dead and g-gone. So, will Winterfell. No matter how m-many malls or sh-shopping centers are built, at the m-mention of that name, people will a-always remember the Starks ruled and owned it. N-Nothing can ever take that away.”

The lump to suddenly fill Jon’s throat had him taking a deep breath and looking away. How many times had he heard that from Arya? And now to hear Dany validate that was all the more…

The sudden notification alert on his phone startled him. Giving them an apologetic look at the rude interruption, he glanced at the device briefly (sincerely hoping it wasn’t Tyrion about to give him his schedule for the week), only to rise quickly to his feet as he noticed who it was from.

**Jaime.**

_Shit._

“Who is it?” Dany asked as Jon held up a hand and paced away from them. He was already dialing back, his heart a snare drum in his chest.

 _Pleasepleasepleaseletitbesomethinggood,_ he pleaded desperately. _Whatevermagicyourdickhadpleasetellmesoemthingfucking…_

“Hey, Jaime?” he greeted as he stepped into the foyer.

“Hello, Jon,” came the amiable enough greeting in kind. “How are you?”

“Could you please skip over the small talk and let me know what happened? Am I screwed or not?”

Jaime chuckled, which only did more to aggravate Jon, who was now running a hand through his hair and pacing around the large round table in the middle of the room. He was going to scream in a second if Jaime didn’t –

“Good news and maybe bad,” he began. “So, I’ll start with the bad. Get yourself a good lawyer. And the good? She’s willing to negotiate…for at least three more years.”

Jon felt his stomach drop. “Three years?! Seven fucking hells!”

“I tried my best, Jon, but even my sexual prowess has its limitations I find. She won’t give you up that easily. All the same, she wishes to have a meeting, with your lawyer present of course, on Friday. How does that sound?”

“ _This_ Friday?” Jon couldn’t believe this. Where was he going to find a bull fighter of a lawyer at such short notice? Cersei was really doing her best to make things difficult for him, wasn’t she?

“This Friday or the deal is off, she says,” Jaime replied sadly. “I’m sorry, Jon. I can refer you to a lawyer I know in Lannisport. He’s quite successful in cases like these.”

Jon shook his head. “No, it’s…it’s fine. I guess I’ll just go with Reeds and hope he can keep up with Cersei.”

Jaime didn’t sound too convinced. “Well, whatever happens…good luck.”

Dany, who had been eavesdropping from the doorway to the living room, would watch with concern as Jon walked – as if in a daze – toward the staircase. He plopped himself onto a step and held his head within his hands, a low moan escaping his lips.

“Is he all right?” Davos asked in a hushed whisper as he peeked over her shoulder. “What’s wrong with him?”

Not responding, she walked carefully across the foyer toward him. Davos, aware of Dany’s struggles, was not far behind in case she tripped, but he politely kept his distance from the couple when she sat beside Jon to wrap an arm around his shoulder.

“She wants me to work for three more years,” Jon groaned without looking up. “And in addition, I have to show up on Friday morning with a lawyer to harsh out the details. I was hoping for only a year at least. Reeds isn’t good at such negotiations. Cersei will eat him for breakfast!”

“Ahem,” Davos coughed lightly to get their attention. He smiled at their twin looks of bemusement. “It seems like you’re in need of some expert legal advice for your situation, am I correct?”

“Yes,” Jon began warily. “But I don’t think you understand.”

“I know the gist of what’s going on,” Davos replied with a nod to a sheepish Dany. “She told me most of it over our conversations as it appears you are trying to get out of your escort business.”

Jon nodded. He was too desperate at this point to be annoyed at Dany exposing his business to all and sundry.

“I think I might have someone who can help you,” Davos stated as he pulled out his phone. “Now be warned that he might not be the most conventional of lawyers, but with your permission, I can speak to him and give him a quick rundown of your case. He’s quite busy, but I’m sure if he realizes we’re indirectly dealing with a Targaryen, he’ll be willing to squeeze you in somewhere.”

“Please…whoever he is, as long as he can keep up with Cersei-”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that too much,” Davos said with a chuckle. “Trust me. this man has dealt with the likes of the Lannisters for a long time. They don’t call him The Spider for nothing. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a phone call to make.”

 

* * *

 

 

“I don’t like this.”

“St-stop fidgeting, Jon,” Dany chided warmly as she attempted to straighten out his tie. “It’s going to be o-okay.”

“No, it isn’t. I haven’t even met this guy,” he protested, absently arching his neck to give her more access to his collar. “And the few conversations we had on the phone didn’t give me much hope either. He sounded so…slimy.”

Dany arched a brow. “Sli-slimy? What does that mean?”

“Like a guy who can sell you your own body part. Seven hells, is it hot in here?”

“It’s too cold if you ask me,” Dany replied though she had to admit the interior of the Night’s Watch was not what she had expected. It was chic and rather quiet for a Friday morning, though she had seen a couple of handsome men strolling by earlier. They had smiled at her in greeting, but seemed more aware of who Jon was, as they hailed him with more enthusiasm. On the large television screen in the lobby, she watched a video of testimonials where women (probably actresses) gushed over how wonderful the services were.

“They are more than just sex toys,” an older woman in her fifties declared. “These men bring so much happiness to our lives. They make us feel loved and young again. And since my husband passed away ten years ago, I had no idea how much I missed that sort of companionship.”

“My escort was a godsend,” another one praised. “Since I became legally blind years ago, it’s been hard getting to read my favorite books. Peter was so wonderful to me. He was patient and kind, and never found it a bother to entertain me for hours. His company was always welcome…”

 _I know exactly what you mean, girls,_ Dany thought as the memories of those first days and weeks with Jon came rushing back in a flood.

From the moment he walked into that foyer on that rainy night, wondering if he had stepped into the gates of Hell (his expression had been too easy to read), to tasting his wonderful cooking, to his attempts to play the piano, watch the shows she watched, learn sign language and a little Valyrian, to their first kiss and eventual love-making. This ‘escort’ had been sent to make her life just a little bit better, and all these months later, she was fully involved in his world now. It was _her turn_ to make him feel just a little bit better.

He belonged to her as she did to him. Whether or not he slept with or kept other women company, he was always going to be _hers_. And she knew that _now_ with a certainty she had never felt before.

She studied his profile with longing and appreciation, and with a sense of smug pride, she wrapped her arms around his and placed a hard kiss to his temple.

“I lo-love you, Jon Snow,” she whispered into his ear. “A-and no m-matter wh-what happens in there…I a-always will.”

He looked at her with something akin to shock and perhaps hope within those piercing grey eyes. “D-Dany are you saying you’ll be okay with it if I-?”

“No,” she admitted bluntly. “I’ll be in-incredibly jealous, but I’m also a-aware that you have to make some sa-sacrifices, and so will I. B-besides…it gives us more time to d-d-date, don’t you think? You w-will have your days off, won’t you?”

Jon took a shuddering breath and nodded, his hand reaching to clasp hers as the desperate urge to seize those pink-tinted lips and kiss her until she begged for mercy overwhelmed him. Her decision to be with him today hadn’t even been open for debate, and though the last couple of days had been difficult – the adjusting to law enforcement presence around the house and dealing with official police paperwork regarding Jorah’s predicament – her brave face always crumbled whenever she returned to his arms each night.

Yet despite the emotional strain, Dany was determined to sit through the proceedings and look Cersei Lannister in the eye. They were both under a lot of stress, but if they were going to get through this, they would get through it together (her fighting words). Besides, Jon had to admit Dany looked sexy as hell in a black pant suit accentuated with a lovely silver brooch of a three-headed dragon. And with her long hair done in a braid bun upon her head, she seemed to be channeling Cersei; perhaps an indirect power play between the two women.

 _Whatever the reason,_ Jon mused as he cupped her chin, _I’m just glad you’re here with me._

Unfortunately, when their lips were merely a breath away from each other’s, a loud cough had them pulling apart quickly.

“Sorry to interrupt you lovebirds,” Mysaria giggled. Her usual brunette hair was now a shade of ripe tomato and styled in a bouffant Dany was already in love with (maybe she could convince Missandei to do something like that to her hair someday…)

“But Ms. Cersei is ready to see you in the conference room. If you’ll both follow me.”

Jon panicked and glanced at his watch. “He’s not here yet. The fucking goddamn lawyer isn’t here yet!”

“M-Maybe he’s just running l-late,” Dany said quickly. “Perhaps sh-she can give us a little mo-more time for him-”

“Ms. Cersei says she can’t waste much time. She’s got an appointment elsewhere in an hour,” Mysaria replied with an apologetic smile.

Jon was already on the phone dialing angrily. Dany didn’t need an interpreter to know he was probably cursing out the man with the furious expression on his visage as he rose to his feet and began pacing the room.

Dany exchanged a sheepish look with Mysaria, who was now glancing at her watch. “We really have to go,” the receptionist whispered in earnest. “She’ll get upset.”

“He’s not picking up,” Jon shook his head in disbelief. “Are you fucking kidding me right now? At this rate, I should just walk in there and give it all up to Cersei.”

Dany stood up and reached for his arm to tug him impatiently. “Let’s just g-go in there and see what she’s g-got to say first, and hope this V-Varys shows up eventually. Co-come on, Jon. I swear to the gods, you’ll get a lot of wrinkles b-before you’re thirty.”

Varys or not, she was actually more interested in seeing the infamous lioness behind such an operation. She had, of course, seen Cersei in magazines and on television, but to actually be in her _presence_ after all the stories she’d heard? She could only hope she wouldn’t be that intimidated.

Mysaria knocked on the frosted glass doors and ushered them in. “Here they are, Ms. Cersei, Mr. Jaime, and Mr. Baelish. Jon Snow and Miss Daenerys Stormborn.”

If the trio were surprised to hear that last name, they were expert enough to hide it quickly. Not surprisingly, at the head of the large oval-shaped table sat Cersei, looking for all the world like she owned it and was ready to crush anyone who thought otherwise with her bare hands. If Jon had hoped to see a glimpse of that human side from the other night, he was sorely disappointed. She looked as human as an alabaster statue, her eyes cold and unfeeling in features that seemed carved from stone. Like Dany, her hair was in its trademark bun, and the suit – while not pinstripe – was done in rich colors of crimson and gold. The finishing touch was an oversized lion head brooch pinned to her left breast. All that was missing was a cigar or a top hat and she would be set as a possible mobster boss.

Her brother, dressed more casually, was in another cashmere turtleneck, this time a dark blue shade, that set off his sparkling green eyes and hair of spun gold. He looked relaxed sitting at his sister’s righthand side. On her left, sat a well-dressed man in a tailored brown suit. His pinched features, complete with a goatee, reeked of quiet intelligence yet with a cunning that could be troublesome if push came to shove. Still, he attempted to smile and rise to his feet in greeting. His hand felt like touching the belly of a dead fish. Dany was quick to notice the silver mockingbird brooch attached to the collar of his suit, but she could barely control her shudder all the same.

“She walks,” were the first words out of Cersei’s lips after a cursory appraisal of the younger woman. She raised a brow at her sibling. “I thought you said she was wheelchair bound.”

“The last time I saw her,” Jaime replied coolly. He rose to his feet, made his way toward the still standing couple and being the consummate gentleman, bowed and lifted Dany’s hand to his lips. “My lady. You are even more stunning than the stories say. The portrait is hardly an adequate representation of such immaculate-”

“Save the fawning for later,” Cersei interjected impatiently. “Can we get started please? I’ve got an appointment in the next hour. Petyr?”

“Our lawyer isn’t here yet,” Jon began as he sat down once he had helped Dany into the seat beside him. “Could we just give him at least ten more minutes-?”

“If you think I’m going to sit around waiting for your lawyer to make his grand entrance, you’re sadly mistaken,” Cersei clipped. “What are you waiting for, Petyr? Read the contract already.”

Baelish cleared his throat and slid a sly smile at the couple before opening his briefcase to withdraw carefully typed documents. “Forgive me, madam,” Baelish apologized in a voice as slick as oil. “I will begin shortly.”

“I don’t intend to participate until my lawyer is present,” Jon grated through clenched teeth.

“You are wasting my time and everyone else’s with this pathetic display,” Cersei sneered. “Now, if you don’t mind-”

“Ten minutes isn’t too much to ask, is it?” Dany asked politely. Never was she gladder to find her stammering controlled. As long as she spoke slowly that is.

“It is for people like me who actually have to work for a living,” Cersei interjected with a patronizing smile. “Not all of us can afford to be pampered in old mansions getting disability checks.”

Dany might have gone a little pale, but Jon bristled at the insult. He was just about ready to give Cersei a piece of his mind, when the door suddenly flew open and the overwhelming stench of rosewater and lavender filled the air.

“My sincere apologies,” came the hasty and breathless greeting from a man who could only be described as a walking pile of human dough…a purple-silk covered dough at least. His bald head gleamed with sweat, which he was quick to wipe away with a handkerchief. His features were just as pale and soft, with eyes – though beady- that shone with intelligence and sly wisdom.

However, unlike his counterpart in the suit, Varys seemed to favor wearing a Yi Ti inspired robe of purple silk with golden embellishments. His ‘briefcase’ was a leather satchel draped around his shoulders and over his bulging midsection, and as he reached out to pump Jon and Dany’s hands in greeting, both had to do their best not to cringe at just how… _squishy_ it felt in their grasp.

“The traffic along Flea Bottom at this time of the day is atrocious,” Varys remarked with a girlish giggle while squirming himself into a seat. “Ah, it’s good to see you again, Littlefinger. Long time, eh?” He must have noticed Jon and Dany’s bemused expression for he explained quickly. “We call him that among our circles. Inside thing.”

“And I was hoping the last,” came the dry retort, from Petyr ‘Littlefinger’ Baelish, that showed there was clearly no love lost between the two lawyers.

However, if Baelish looked annoyed, Cersei (and perhaps Jaime to some extent) were the color of curdled cheese.

Cersei would eventually find her voice and with an icy glare at Jon, she barked sharply. “What is the meaning of this? Why is _he_ here?”

Jon, who was still trying to get rid of the sensation of Varys’s handshake, was slowly beginning to realize that Davos had been right about this strange effeminate man. There was clearly some history between these four, and whatever history it was, it was clear Varys was not particularly a sight any of them wanted to see.

“Why _isn’t_ he here?” Jon replied with an attempt to look innocent. “He’s the person representing me in this matter.”

“Of all the attorneys in King’s Landing, hell in Westeros, you had to pick Varys,” Cersei spat as if the very idea of mentioning his name made her physically ill. “I was sure you were disbarred!”

Varys tittered and withdrew some documents from his pouch. “Seems like your rigorous attempts to get that done never quite panned out, my lady. You forget I have my ways, which brings me to my client here.”

He would flash a brief smile at Jon and Dany before dropping the mask of congeniality. All of a sudden, gone were the initial amiable features, and in its place, an expression of rigid contempt and intensity replaced it. Here was, in Davos’s words, the man no one wanted to see as an opponent in the courtroom, or in this case conference room. Unlike most of his contemporaries, Varys had no need for flashy billboards and media ads to get his name out there. He worked ‘underground’ and his clientele ranged from the wealthy and powerful, to the even more wealthy and powerful. Having a man like The Spider in your corner was almost always a sure bet.

Jon didn’t even want to know how much his bill was going to be should they win this.

“I’ll cut to the chase,” Varys began succinctly. He slipped on a pair of thin-rimmed reading glasses and surveyed the notes before him. “I have to give Baelish and your team a standing ovation for such a watertight contract. You barely gave my client any wiggle room. _Tut tut tut_. Quite clever of you.” He lowered the notes and clasped his hands upon them, a hint of a smile on his lips. “Unfortunately, you failed to touch on the fact that my client is also a paid employee, ergo he is technically under the protection of the Union Workers Act of 73-”

“That arcane law?” Baelish scoffed and leaned back in his seat as if this was already a done deal. “Hardly anyone pays any attention to it-”

“Hardly anyone who doesn’t bother studying it,” Varys corrected him with a wave of his hand. He turned his attention to a red-faced Cersei. “In fact, this law – as obscure as it is – is still permissible in a court of law, and it gives my client his right to protest any unfair treatment-”

“What unfair treatment?!” Cersei hissed. “He’s the one who willingly signed the contract-”

“Under duress no doubt,” Varys argued.

“ _Duress?_ No one put a gun to his head!”

“According to my client he had had a shitty day, beginning with a confrontation at his work place before wandering into your bar where a fight broke out. He was hardly in a state of mind to focus on whatever was happening at the time. Hell, if you had offered him a task of murdering someone for pay, he might have done it.”

“What are you trying to say?” Jaime asked quietly.

“What I’m trying to say is that my client did not sign that contract in a sane state of mind-”

“You’re going to plead insanity?” Cersei laughed bitterly. “Oh, this is rich. He takes advantage of my good graces, including getting his sister the best care after getting her out of the hands of his so-called insane aunt, give him a life anyone would die for, and all of a sudden, you’re telling me in three years, he was ‘not sane’ enough to realize what he had signed up for? Give me a fucking break.” She tapped the desk impatiently. “And here I was about to give you the benefit of the doubt. The deal is off. You will finish up your seven years or else-”

“I wouldn’t go through with that just yet, my lady,” Varys interrupted, looking still as cool and collected as ever while Jon was attempting not to lose his shit at how bad things were going. Dany was worrying her lower lip and clutching onto Jon’s non-nervously tapping hand and squeezing for dear life.

“What now?” Cersei snapped.

“As I mentioned, my client was under mental duress…a state he’s always been in since the unfortunate death of his family. According to his medical record…don’t ask me how I got hold of them…he’s being treated for anxiety and panic attacks. Yes?”

“So?”

“So, if you intend to force my client to continue working for you knowing his mental illness, with the possibility of making his symptoms worse thereby risking a chance of sending him to the hospital or at the cost of his life…” Varys took a deep breath and pinned a cold glance at the trio. “…we could be looking at forced labor, my lady. Forced labor resulting in mental anguish and suffering on his person which in turn could result in you facing criminal charges…not including the others I might have lurking in the background.”

“Is that a threat?” Cersei hissed icily. “Do you dare _threaten_ me?”

“Oh, I dare,” Varys replied with a grin. “For you see, there’s still that little-known case of you not filing taxes for a few years and trying to evade the Bureau. All it would take is one phone call from me and…” He spread out his arms and shrugged as if just as puzzled as to what could take place next.

“This is…this is ridiculous-”

“He only asked for one more year of an extension if his story is correct,” Varys said with that same shit-eating expression of pity on his visage. “All you had to do was say ‘yes’ to his proposal and we wouldn’t be in this mess.” He clapped his hands and grinned at Jon and Dany. “So? What say you to my proposal? Either my client walks and we don’t ever speak about this again? Or-”

“This is blackmail!”

“Emotional blackmail for my client,” Varys replied with a shake of his head as if deeply grieved. “Think of the mental anguish you’re putting him through. Did you know that the suicide rate for such cases is at over eighty percent?”

“I provided him – and all my employees mind you -expensive therapy for their-”

Varys’s eyes widened at that. “Ooh, because you _knew_ his symptoms would be exacerbated if he didn’t attend those sessions, eh? Trying to cover all your bases, weren’t you, my lady?”

“And all the money he owes me by walking away?” she tried, desperately trying to cling to something worth keeping him shackled.

“My client is willing to pay you whatever he earns from now until his seven years is up. A monthly stipend of at least ten thousand gold dragons…. right?” He looked to Jon for verification.

Jon nodded.

Varys grunted and studied his documents again. “We realize it’s considerably less than what he made for you every month, but all things considered…ahem. At the moment, he will give up his entire savings for the past three years including all his properties-”

“I _own_ his fucking properties!” Cersei raged in disbelief.

“Well technically, but if we factor in that including his monthly stipend then…that should be enough to satisfy you, shouldn’t it? Right now, we are looking at about three point five million gold dragons just waiting for your greedy little fingers to hold onto, and a million more in properties that do not have your name attached to them.” He looked up from the papers and smiled softly. “I would accept that deal and walk away if I were you, my lady.”

“Or else?” she dared.

“Or else,” Varys replied with a grin. He took off his glasses and began wiping them with a piece of cloth. “I will say my farewells now and look forward to seeing you in the Red Keep for a trial or two.” He looked around the elegant conference room and nodded in approval. “Would be a shame to see all this disappear over a single man when you’ve got a hundred more at your beck and call. As sleazy as this business is, I must reluctantly admit it does some good to your clients. In fact, right here…” He pointed to Jon and Dany. “…could even be considered a success story. You’ve brought two young people together, people who might have never met any other way. In a twisted way, Cersei Lannister, _you_ are responsible for their happiness. So, for once in your miserable life, do something good and accept it.”

Dany was worried Cersei’s head was going to roll off with how flushed and incensed she looked, and before she could stop herself, she heard herself speaking.

“He’s ri-right,” she said firmly, hoping her words would sink through the haze of anger. “You…thanks to you and Jaime…you brought Jon to me. You saw how I was when we first met…” This she said to Jaime who was now studying her with interest. At his soft nod, she took courage from that and continued. “I was a recluse, covered from head to toe and unable to speak. I was afraid of opening myself to others, but by some twist of fate…my decision to use your services had Jon Snow sent to my doorstep. And from the moment I met him…” She looked to Jon as she said this, blushing furiously at the expression in his eyes, that words would never fully be able to articulate. It was now a struggle to get the words out. “…fr-from the m-m-moment I met him, I se-sensed he would ch-change my life somehow and he di-did.”

She took a deep gulp of breath and forced herself to continue, more thanks to Jon’s gentle squeeze of her hand in encouragement.

“I le-learned to speak again…to w-walk again…and most importantly to fe-feel like I was worth being lo-loved and to re-reciprocate in ki-kind. Yo-you did this…and for th-that I’ll be for-forever grateful.” She stopped and worried her lower lip. Somehow it all hadn’t come out as dramatically as it had played out in her mind, but she was suddenly weary of trying to convince anyone about her feelings for Jon.

_Let them take it as they will._

She wasn’t leaving without him that was for sure.

“Th-that’s all I w-wanted to say,” she finished lamely and sat back on her chair, smiling apologetically at Jon despite his sudden decision to press a hard and lingering kiss to her forehead in silent gratitude.

“And I rest my case,” Varys added with a flourish. “So? Do I give you a little more time to think it through or do we have a deal?”

All eyes were now trained on the stoic female seated at the head of the table. Cersei’s expression was hardly enough to tell of what was going on within that mind of hers, but at least she wasn’t looking as if she was about to explode.

Her emerald gaze drifted to the stormy grey ones she had always considered arresting and perpetually filled with bottomless sadness. She wouldn’t say if it was love or lust at first sight when she had found herself staring down at them all those nights ago, but she had seen something within them; something that had called out to instincts she thought lost after three stillborn children in a row. She knew it was the gods way of punishing her relationship with Jaime, but perhaps they had sent another in the form of the man from the north who had stared Death in the face and welcomed it with open arms. She had wanted that Jon to be a part of her world, not just as an employee, but someone she could shield in her own way.

No matter how perverse it might be to others.

“It won’t last,” she finally said in a deceptively calm tone. “This…love of yours. Enjoy it while it’s still all roses and sunshine, but don’t you dare come crawling back to me when it all turns to ashes at your feet, Jon Snow. And as for you sleazy buffoon,” This was directed to Varys who was still grinning. “You might have won today, but never forget…the Lannisters always pay their debt.”

And with that bitter declaration, she impatiently motioned to Varys for the documents, signed it without bothering to read the fine print (though Baelish would demand for copies later), and tossing the pen aside with disgust, she stormed out of the conference room without a look back.

The silence left behind was deafening. It was left to Varys to break it as he shuffled the documents after Jon had signed them as well.

“And there you go,” the bald man said with a flourish. “You are officially a free man, Jon Snow. Of course, you can no longer go back to your apartment…although something tells me you haven’t been living there recently anymore.” He giggled and rose to his feet to shake the couple’s hands. “This is for you, and I’ll keep the rest should there be any incidents. You have my information, and I’ll be sending you the bill for my services later.” He tipped his head in a polite bow and with a playful wave and blown kiss in a red-faced Baelish’s direction, Varys swept out of the room leaving behind that lingering scent of lavender that had cloaked him like a shield.

“What a str-strange person,” Dany mused before clapping her hands in delight as the enormity of the situation sunk in. “We w-won, Jon!”

Jon couldn’t answer or even respond to the happy kiss she planted on his cheek. He was still staring at the documents as if they were made of gold, and why wouldn’t he? Written in black and white were the words that essentially released him from spending endless hours in the company of other women for money. He was back to being ‘ordinary’ Jon Snow, and he suddenly wasn’t quite sure of how to feel about that.

“I will miss you,” came the sudden quiet words to jar him from his muddled thoughts. Jon looked up and into the familiar pair of green eyes, and for reasons he could not explain, struggled against the hard lump suddenly forming in his throat. For all his petty jealous intentions toward the older man, Jon could see that Jaime really wasn’t all that bad. He did not have his sister’s fanatic desire for power, neither did he have his younger brother’s desire for wealth and insatiable knowledge. He seemed to be caught in the middle of two extremes and was content to let the wind take him whichever route suited him best.

“Yeah,” was all Jon could manage to spurt out like a fool. “We…I mean…thanks.”

Jaime shrugged and reached out to pat his shoulder, but if Jon had assumed that was the extent to his affection, being pulled into a sudden embrace left him crushed against the broad chest until he had to tap Jaime’s back to be released.

“Seven hells!” he panted when he was finally able to breathe. He glared at the grinning blond. “And here I thought you were somewhat normal.”

Jaime laughed. “Making you embarrassed is going to be an activity I’ll miss the most. However, let’s keep in touch, hmm? I’m sure the other boys will wonder why you no longer join us for boys’ night out, but…don’t be a stranger, all right?”

Jon might have muttered something that sounded like ‘I’d rather eat sand than join you fellas for a beer’, but had to duck away from Jaime’s attempt to ruffle his hair as if he was a kid. He did try not to sneer as Jaime bowed and kissed the back of Dany’s hand, wished her good fortunes ahead, before sauntering away in search of his probably still incensed sibling.

Jon couldn’t wait to see the last of this building.

However, it wasn’t until he and Dany were back in the diner they had visited on their date, (even Freckled Waitress – Bethany – seemed happy to see them again), did it suddenly hit him again at how different things were going to be from now on. For starters, he no longer had the expensive phone given to him by the Watch as Mysaria had confiscated and destroyed it in his presence before leaving. It meant he had effectively lost all his contacts even personal ones, much to his annoyance. However, one could understand the precautions the business had to take as Jon did have access to information about clients that were to remain private.

“We’ll ge-get you a new phone,” Dany had reassured him earlier, with plans to stop by the next tech store they passed on their way home.

 _Home, huh?_ Funny how the word just slipped out of their mouths without them arguing over his now impromptu living situation. In fact, after their phone shopping, it was straight to Tormund’s to pick up Ghost and his personal belongings.

“I’m going to need a job now,” Jon muttered as he watched her soak up some maple syrup with her favorite pancake. “Maybe I’ll go back to the construction site. Tormund might have an opening.”

Dany nodded and licked her fingers. “Th-that’s cool. I ca-can pack you lunches li-like in the mo-movies.”

Jon chuckled and pushed around the sausages on his plate. Having breakfast for lunch? Seemed normal at this point. Everything was going to feel… _normal_ from now on. Except for one other missing puzzle.

_If only you were here to celebrate this with me, Arya. I’ve got the papers burning a hole in my pocket now. All you have to do is come back to Westeros, and we can be a family again._

He studied the bean-shaped sausage before looking up at his still feasting companion. Dear gods, he loved how much she appreciated food. And knowing he could now have to cook exclusively for her for the rest of their lives (probably)…seemed too good to be true.

“I’ll pay you back you know,” he blurted out seemingly out of the blue causing her to stop in mid sip of her orange juice.

“Huh?” she queried with genuine bemusement.

“For Varys and…and all that,” he mumbled with growing embarrassment. Finally, he had to get off what was really on his mind. “Look it could be just like Cersei said. What if we…I mean what if this is just a phase…especially for you?”

She studied him for what seemed like an eternity causing him to squirm and worry he might have provoked her with his query, but he couldn’t help it. Despite his best attempts to ignore Cersei’s petty jape, it still nagged him incessantly.

“Is th-that what you th-think?” Dany finally asked quietly as she lowered her glass to the table. “You think it’s j-just a ph-phase?”

Jon leaned closer, his features earnest and pleading. “Dany, I’m your first…at least since what happened to you with your crazy brother and that asshole in Essos. You’ve not really had a chance to experience different kinds of relationships, and there’s the possibility you’ll get weary of me and want to move on.” 

He winced inwardly at the gradual look of annoyance, and the familiar brightness of her eyes indicating how much she was trying to hold her tears at bay. Cursing beneath his breath at the sight of her quivering bottom lip, he reached out to grasp her hands within his.

“Listen to me, Dany-”

“Yo-you’re having second th-thoughts already, aren’t you?” she began. “You d-don’t th-think this will work out, do you?”

“Seven hells, Dany, after all that shit we just went through in there?” he exclaimed in disbelief. “If I thought for one second that I didn’t want to be with you, I wouldn’t have wasted my time even going to see the Lannisters in the first place.” He squeezed her hands gently and raised them his lips, placing reverent baby kisses on each digit as a tear broke free to slide down her cheek. “But as much as it even pains me to say this, I’m a realist as well, Dany. Our relationship has been a whirlwind; a crazy, amazing and intense five months I wouldn’t trade for a second. I can only imagine how it’s been for you, and you’re probably filled with all these emotions you’ve finally gotten to feel for the first time. What you said in there to Cersei about how I made you feel…who knows? There might be someone else out there you end up meeting who…ouch!”

The slap hadn’t been particularly hard, but it stung enough to make his eyes water. Forced to release her hands to rub his right cheek, he watched with faint panic as her expression turned to a glare before she went back to attacking her pancake with a vengeance.

“Dany-”

“B-Better ke-keep it to yourself, Jon Snow,” she warned without looking up. The poor pancake was being cut with a ferocity that had him wondering if she was imagining his face in that position.

“Sorry,” he mumbled with a soft sigh. Maybe they could talk about this another day and…

“One-one year.”

He looked up at that with a brow arched in confusion. “What?”

“We d-date for a ye-year,” she explained still focused on her meal. “We se-see how we li-like it or if we-we get tired of being in each other’s co-company. Is that g-good enough for you?”

Jon inhaled deeply. “If that’s what you want…”

She lifted her head then, wiping away the streak of tears on her cheek. “What I want is to be with you, Jon Snow. So, we’ll ta-take it slow li-like you want.”

He nodded. “That’s fine…which means I’ll have to move out then.”

Her eyes widened in panic. “Wh-why? Th-there’s plenty of room at the mansion even if you don’t have to sleep in my b-bedroom-”

“And as wonderful as that is, my darling,” Jon replied with a small smile. “If we’re going to go through with this, we need to do it the right way. We start afresh. Makes it more fun that way, doesn’t it? This time, I’m no longer an escort, and you’re not a paying client. We’re just a man and woman who have the hots for each other.”

“But-”

“Dany.”

She gave a huff of impatience before sagging her shoulders with a sigh of resignation. “O-okay…where will you st-stay?”

“I’ll rent an apartment in the city…probably near Flea Bottom. Cheaper down there. I did save some money Cersei doesn’t know about. It should be enough to sustain me until I start working.”

Her lips pursed in a pout of exasperation and helplessness; a sight that made her look more adorable than petulant. He reached out to tug at them playfully, ducking in time when she tried to swipe at him.

“I h-hate this,” she grumbled, though she took time to stab a slice of the pancake before sticking it into her mouth, and not caring for decorum, she spoke around it, perhaps deliberately spraying the food in his direction as ‘punishment’. “It w-will su-suck.”

Jon made a show of wiping his face, though he couldn’t help chuckling at the display. “No, it won’t. I think this will give us a chance to fall in love all over again. I’ll come pick you up for dates…stay over a weekend…you come over to my place…we could go to so many places now, and knowing I don’t have to run off to keep another appointment or fulfill a client’s request will make it so much better. I’m free to do whatever the hell I want with you, Dany, with no feeling of guilt attached to it. So, for the next year, let’s just try to enjoy each other as much as possible until we’re absolutely sure…as in…”

He turned crimson as Arya’s tease in the letter shot through his mind, and daring to steal a glance at his companion, her reddened features were a dead giveaway that she too recalled his sister’s message.

_(the next time I hear from you two, I better hear the tag line of Mr. and Mrs. Jon Snow, eh?)_

Clearing his throat, he reached for his glass of water to wet his suddenly parched throat.

“Un-until we’re ab-absolutely sure,” Dany repeated in a whisper; those striking eyes of warm amethyst leaving him even more breathless. And as her lips curved into a coy smile of silent understanding, Jon would finally find his voice to whisper back in kind,

“Yeah…until we’re absolutely sure.”

 

 

 

 


	16. Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is - a labor of love completed.
> 
> I cannot begin to thank each and every single person, who has followed me through this journey, enough.
> 
> Your comments, support, and encouragement has helped me with the writing process, and I'm humbled when I receive feedback from folks who also found this therapeutic in some way. 
> 
> I hope that the story continues to linger with you long after you've read the last word, and that it continues to inspire you.
> 
> Thank you again, and for the last time...enjoy!   
> *bows gratefully*

**Note:** actual quote used is by Robin Sharma

* * *

 

 

_Dany’s Journal:_

 

There is an old Valyrian saying, which goes as such: _Jēda ropagon hae rizmon dōrī māzigon arlī_

In the Common Tongue, it means: Time slips away like grains of sand never to return again.

While the saying does hold some truth, my dearest confidant, I will beg to differ for Time also gives you wonderful memories you can hold onto. Or perhaps I have completely misunderstood the quote (Grandpa Aemon did say I sometimes took things too literally). Either way, I choose to relish on the positives from my past and to look ahead with little to no regrets. Life is too short for regrets, wouldn’t you agree?

As I pen this, it’s been 11 months, 4 days, and 8 hours since Jon and I made that ‘pact’ at the diner.

It’s been 11 months, 4 days, and 8 hours of rollercoaster emotions; from the fear of the unknown, to worrying about my future, wondering if we will make it through as a couple, or if there would come a time when I’d finally have to say goodbye. Jon was right about one thing; being in a real relationship is hardly a cakewalk, and this past year has been an eye-opening and a truly learning experience.

So much has happened, I don’t even know where to begin, so let’s see if I can summarize it as best I can.

First, the mansion is such a different place now; such a stark contrast from those early days. I can still recall arriving to a place dark and musty with age, haunting (for the most part) childhood memories, and a hollow wearisome emptiness. Today, it’s filled with familiar voices and faces I have come to love and cherish; their presence flooding each room with warmth and joy that makes it feel like home again.

Davos has stepped into the role he performed when Grandpa Aemon was alive. He has become my personal assistant (seems odd to label him as such, but it’s the closest I can come up with), and I’ve given him rights to my business and financial affairs. Unlike Jorah, he is straightforward and honest (sometimes brutally honest), providing me with much needed advice and positive influence I’ve lacked in a while.

Thanks to him, I was finally able to visit Dragonstone, and I must confess that the images I’ve seen in the papers and television, fail to adequately capture its frightening majesty. If there’s anything I can take away from the experience, it’s that my ancestors were not ashamed of their Valyrian roots despite its total destruction after The Doom. Jon was the most impressed by it all, though he muttered something about how freakishly lifelike the many stone dragons were. They really were most amazing, with their dark stone polished look; as if the artisans had used the very rocks from the many volcanos dotted around the island. Legend claims they are sealed with magic, and I swear I felt something; some weird energy while I walked through some chambers. Or maybe I was just hungry. Either way, between the stone dragons, the gargoyles and wyverns dotted around the castle, Jon and I counted over a hundred and fifteen of them, and we still didn’t finish getting them all.

Below is a rough sketch of what the throne room looked like; and yes, that really is a dragon with an open mouth as its entry way. Isn’t that so clever?

If I’m to be honest, dear Journal, I couldn’t see myself living in such a castle. Despite all Stannis Baratheon has done to make it presentable to the public (he even converted one of the many dining halls into a public eatery so one could get the ‘experience’ of being where kings and queens had once feasted), it still lacked a certain warmth. I felt I ought to be comfortable and happy being there, after all my parents and brothers had walked those same halls, but all I could think about was the mansion or Jon’s apartment. I might have felt a strange tingle of ‘magic’, but the rooms – with their ornate décor and cumbersome fineries, held no iota of love. I know it sounds odd, but it is possible to sense such a thing. Those rooms, no, that castle had no love within it. I couldn’t wait for the tour to be over and was quite glad I had waived my ownership rights to the Baratheon Corp…with one little caveat. I would at least get about 40% of the profits made from its yearly revenue. It wasn’t something I fought for, but I had a certain Spider to thank for talking me into it and striking the deal with as little fuss as possible.

(And I still think he’s quite a strange person. Strange, but fascinating. I couldn’t help drawing a few sketches of him, where Jon sort of meanly teased that he still looked like a walking pile of dough (lol) Jon does have a mean streak every now and then, and I won’t get into the conversations we’ve had about people he doesn’t like)

Speaking of people he doesn’t like – Jorah. Is it strange to say that I feel little to nothing for him anymore? For a couple of months, I couldn’t get over what happened that night. I would have nightmares of him returning, or fear he’d retaliate in some other way. Fortunately, once he was bailed and all the paperwork completed, he left Westeros much to my relief. I have no idea where he is, and I have no intention of finding out. I have learned my lessons from Jorah Mormont, but the most important I believe is that I am much stronger than I think I am. He brought out the dragon in me, and even Viserys would have been impressed.

Ms. Frey is still with me, though with her bad hip, she’s doing less around the house these days. The poor dear. All the same, she does her best to make sure things run smoothly and with the help of her granddaughter, Sarah, I think it’s safe to say the mansion is in good hands. I had forgotten how much I missed her cooking (her chicken pot pie is to die for!), and between her and Jon, I think I might be adding on a few more pounds. Look at my tummy, Journal. Pitiful! (lol)

Speaking of Sarah, she’s still shy about most things, but we’ve had a lot of fun getting to know each other better, and I treat her like my little sister now. I’ve discovered that she likes to read (caught her in the library a few times when she was supposed to be doing some cleaning), and I’ve started teaching her High Valyrian and how to play the piano. Unlike a certain man, she’s got quite a good ear for music and shows promise. In turn, she taught me how to crochet, and I’ve had a lot of fun making little teapot cozies and scarves (each of my children have one now, though Drogon seems to hate his and has chewed holes right through it. He can be so impossible!)

Sam and Gilly had a baby boy over the summer! His name is Sam Jr. and he’s the cutest thing in the world! I’ve asked the proud parents to bring him over as often as possible, and I’ve even painted a portrait of the little darling. You should have seen Gilly sobbing over it. You’d think she had seen a masterpiece instead of a simple watercolor. I will admit their appreciation of my art made me feel good, but even better is getting to babysit while she has to go to work. Between me, Sarah, Ms. Frey, and of course my children – Viserion is most protective – Sam Jr. is in safe hands.

However, you want to know what really makes me feel good? It’s the fact that in less than a month, my dearest sister will get to do something only a handful of women have managed to achieve since its inception. Yes, in just a month, Missandei – a survivor from one of the most horrific wars in Naathi, who was unjustly made a slave – will be admitted into the Citadel to begin forging her chains in the sciences! Can you believe that? I still can’t! And I have to pinch myself (and her) to be sure it’s not all a dream. She’s spent the past year working so hard for this rare opportunity, and getting that official parchment (yes, they are still sticklers for some traditions) in the mail was amazing. Jon threw a party for her, which was pretty much just the three of us drinking ourselves to a possible coma, but who cares? We were having too much fun!

(P.S: I should explain that she doesn’t actually have to forge a chain like in the old days. Can you imagine Missy pounding on steel and all that? We had a good laugh over that imagery. The chains are formed, but then draped around their neck during graduation. They don’t get to wear it all the time like in the old days either, and even Maester Dustin has his chains hanging prominently in his office. Just think! In a few years, Missy will get to hang hers too!)

I do realize this means our time together will be limited as training in the Citadel, which is in Oldtown, will be rigorous and intense. I have to cherish every moment I can get with her until she leaves. I’ve never visited Oldtown before, so it would be great to see the sights and sounds of that mysterious place before we part ways (Jon and I intend to drop her off despite her protests, because knowing Missy, she hates long goodbyes – or anyone seeing her crying aside from me)

But I haven’t even gotten to the really good part, Journal! As if getting her chains wasn’t awesome enough, Missy finally created an organization that’s near and dear to our hearts: The Refugee Sanctuary Initiative, which not only deals with seeking asylum for displaced families in war torn countries, but also ending the horrific trade of human lives. We were able to partner with an existing international organization dealing with these issues, and together, we’ve already raised quite a large sum of money given to the countless families and children who need help the most.

However, this whole thing required Missy and I to actually come out to the public and share our stories. It was a harrowing experience all around, and after a month of being hounded by the Press, I chose to work in the shadows and to let Missandei be the face of our organization. It was her brain child anyway, and I’m only just a helping hand she can rely on at any time.

Besides, whatever spare time I have is now spent visiting members of the community who are considered ‘disabled’. Do you remember that army veteran and his wife I met at the park the first time I went there? Well, they have been an inspiration to me and continue to show that nothing is impossible if you put your mind to it. They plan on hosting an auction to raise funds for more wounded soldiers and their families, and I’ve offered to send in a painting I’m still working on. I hope they like it, as it’s based on his stories and the many others I’ve heard so far. Each and every single person I get to see on my visits to the hospitals or community centers, leave me feeling full of love and appreciation for Life itself.

My children (and Ghost) are getting bigger every day it seems. They must be the size of miniature ponies by now. I don’t even let them sleep on the bed anymore, especially when Jon’s here, as there’s no room for us to even move. Also, with Ghost now spending more time with us, all four stay on the floor or in their beds on the landing. Well, more the landing no thanks to poor Jon nearly cracking a skull one night when he got up to use the bathroom and tripped over Drogon. Oh, the yelping…from both sides!

And now, I’m sure you want to know all about a certain man, who I’ve mentioned quite a few times already. Well, what can I say, Journal? It was a year of trials and tribulations; a year of understanding what he meant by re-learning and re-discovery in more ways than one. Our ‘dating’ has been a wonderful (and sometimes trying) experience. Why trying? Because he can be so stubborn and boneheaded at times, and we get into silly arguments and fights over nothing. Of course, he accuses me of the same thing, and it’s taken a lot of self-reflection to realize that he’s right. I’ve not had the luxury of socializing with many people since childhood, and I know that sometimes I have a narrow way of looking at things, but I’d like to think I’m improving myself as Jon is.

Which brings me to the wonderful aspect of our relationship. When we aren’t sulking at each other over dumb things, we try to spend as much time as possible together. There are the weekends spent at his place, or traveling to new locations around Westeros (though we’re yet to go North and that’s been set for a later date), or getting to try new and exciting things, including watching a soccer match live at a stadium (where I swear I’m still deaf from all the screaming), going to the movies, learning how to cook, ah, I could go on and on, Journal.

If Jon had expected me to look at any other man during this time, and trust me there were quite a few who tried especially with my work at the Peace Initiative, he was sadly mistaken. Like I mentioned, we did have a few fights now and then, and we wouldn’t speak to each other for hours or days at a time, but eventually, we’d come back to our senses and realize how much we cared for each other. I could go into details about how great our makeups were, but I’m trying to keep this entry PG-rated or I could be sorely tempted to write an X-rated version of this (lol). Seriously, Journal. I didn’t think it would be possible to fall even harder for Jon Snow, but here we are…11 months, 4 days, and almost 9 hours later, I realize how hopeless and in too deep I am.

I could wax poetic on how good he feels in my arms especially when he returns to me, how wonderful he tastes as I worship every inch of him, or how wonderful he smells; that rare yet odd combination of rich earth, smoke, and salt. I could gush over how I’ll never tire of his kisses; from tender stolen ones to intense passionate ones that leave me a puddle and at his mercy. I could brag of how he still manages to get the stares when we go out in public places, and how knowing he’s all mine makes me proud to be at his side. My wonderful, wonderful northern fool; my King.

Should I be concerned that his feelings for me are waning in any way? Absolutely not. Perhaps it sounds smug of me, but so far, I’ve seen nothing to make me think otherwise.

My Jon has grown as well over the past year. I knew he already had the suave and polished air of an escort, but now that he’s shed that skin, his foray back to his comfort zone has shown me a completely different side to him. He absolutely loves his new job as head foreman of The Big Red Guy’s very successful construction company. It’s dangerous, I know, but seeing the look of satisfaction on his features, after a long hard day at work, makes it all worthwhile. It’s ‘honest’ work, as he puts it, and he doesn’t have to answer to anyone but himself…and Tormund of course. I couldn’t be prouder of him if I tried, and I make sure I tell him that often. Besides, watching him blush at receiving a compliment is always a delight. He never likes to receive credit for any-

 

* * *

 

“Miss Dany?”

She stopped scribbling and looked up with a start. So deep had she been in her writings, it would take her a second to recognize the familiar figure. It was Sarah, hovering at the door to the bedroom with a bashful expression on her visage.

“What’s wrong?” Dany queried as she snapped the journal shut.

“He’s here, Miss,” came the quiet words that sent a familiar surge of warmth through the older woman.

Unable to stop the smile to come to her visage, Dany nodded in understanding. “I’ll be right down.”

 

* * *

 

He was running late.

“So sorry,” he panted breathlessly as he made his way into the intimate establishment, with its whispered fabled tales of patrons who were once kings and queens oozing from polished weirwood cabinets and pristine glass displays, and toward the smiling gray-haired man waiting behind the counter with a small black bag upon it.

“Perfectly understandable, Mr. Snow,” came the measured reply with just a hint of an undefinable accent. “It’s in here as you ordered.”

“Fantastic. Thank you.”

“Perhaps you’d like to examine it one last time before…?”

Jon, who would have rather not as time was slipping away, nodded reluctantly and allowed the presentation to take place. He already knew what it looked like; had been with this man and his esteemed team throughout the process, but the effect was still as powerful no matter how many times he witnessed it. Held up to a certain light, it brilliantly reflected the color her eyes.

One could only hope it would get the same desired effect from its intended recipient.

“Exquisite,” Jon agreed as he accepted the bag with a smile. “You should have received your payment by now. Have a wonderful holiday season, Mr. Marbrand.”

“The same to you, sir,” he called after the already dashing young man, who would soon get lost in the hustle and bustle of King’s Landing in the heart of ‘winter’.

There wasn’t much snow to brag about, and what little had fallen overnight had all but melted, still it was chilly enough to have Jon huddled within his coat and welcoming the warmth of his ‘new’ truck – which was actually a used version of his favorite brand. Hardly as powerful as the one he had owned in his other life, it still suited his purposes just fine. As long as he was able to get from one place to another, he could live with it.

“Woof!” came the enthusiastic greeting from the backseat, followed by a sloppy wet kiss to his head and cheek as Ghost bounced around in eagerness to get to their destination.

“Easy, big fella,” Jon chuckled and ruffled his head in acknowledgement. “I know, I know. We’ll be there soon. Now sit back, all right?”

Flipping on the radio, where every station seemed determined to bore the city residents with every conceivable winter-themed music they could find in their archives, Jon groaned and weaved his way into the waiting traffic.

11 months, 4 days, 8 hours and counting.

His lips curved into a smile.

11 months of not entirely bliss, but of wonderful re-discovery and the eventual conclusion to what he had always known from the beginning.

_He loved her, and she loved him._

Feelings that had already been established would be allowed to blossom and wither at times throughout the course of the year. He would come to realize that being in such a relationship was not only a learning experience for her, but for him as well. For aside from a few flings in high school, he had never really been _involved_ with a woman for that long. The adjustment of having to be with only one person, to not look at a phone wondering if he would be sent a list of clienteles, of not having to see a stream of different faces every week, playing a new role or rehashing another, was a burden he was glad to be rid of.

In addition, there had been the challenge of adjusting to a life without luxuries he had gotten used to. He found a decent enough apartment just off Flea Bottom; a small one-bedroom hovel with a rather pitiful view of more grimy stone buildings outside his windows. The stench of smoke and sewage was stronger around these parts, but Dany hadn’t seemed to mind…much (since she had just about shrieked at the sight of the large cockroach that almost climbed up her pants that first visit). Bugs and possible rodents aside, she took pleasure in helping him spruce up the place, making it look less roadkill and more habitable. He even got a frame to hang up the portrait she had painted for him, and had to admit it gave his home a little more gravitas. He did have to put his foot down at her suggestion for fuchsia curtains, and they had gotten into an argument over his decision to squander unnecessary money on a large screen television that took up whatever little space was left in the living room.

His argument? The Winterfell Wolverines soccer season was kicking off soon, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to watch it on a small screen. Dany had flung back that she hoped they lost again this year, and it ended up with them sulking and not speaking to each other for a whole twenty-four hours.

She made it up to him in the best way possible; by showing up at his doorstep, wearing a large overcoat and nothing but Wolverine panties beneath. Needless to say, several ‘goals’ were scored later in his bedroom…living room…and every other room they could christen with their shenanigans.

Ghost, who didn’t do too well in such confined spaces, and had made his displeasure known by whining/howling often or knocking over anything he could manage, was more prone to living at the mansion now. Jon would drop him off at the start of the week, and pick him up to either spend the weekend in the city or be with him when staying over at the mansion. Either way, the big white baby got the best of both worlds, though Jon was finding it more difficult to get him to return to the city these days. Sometimes Ghost would vanish when he knew his master was ready to take him away from his ‘siblings’; a tactic that got Jon irritated more often than not.

“I might as well just leave him here and be done with it,” Jon would grumble.

“Or you could just finally move in,” Dany would counter with wide-eyed innocence despite the devilish smirk lingering around her lips.

He chuckled at the memory of that conversation which had ended up with a pillow fight and…well…

_ahem_

He had a steady, well-paying job thanks to Tormund, who was simply put…a godsend. Words didn’t seem adequate enough to convey how much Jon was indebted to the Big Guy for all his help. If Dany had Davos as her right-hand man, then Tormund was his in every way possible. Not only had he dragged Jon up from the depths of his despair and worries, he had put his trust in the younger man to oversee important projects that were worth millions. It usually involved him commuting between different regions often and the work could be exhausting, but seeing to his friend’s success was the least Jon could do. Besides, with his upcoming marriage to Brienne, the Big Guy couldn’t be in a happier place.

Unfortunately, despite the successes in his new life, the old still crept in every once in a while, especially when he was forced to see familiar faces from his days in the Night’s Watch. While most pretended not to know him, a few (especially the older ones) still bemoaned his decision to quit. They hoped he would visit once in a while, even if it was just for a cup of tea or to say hello to their pet poodles. They really were sweet old ladies who posed no harm, but one person who was definitely not likely to be happy with just a cup of tea was a certain heiress to the Tyrell fortune. Margaery Tyrell. She might have done more than just recognize Jon at the grocery store, and was more than ready to show her ‘appreciation’ of him with perhaps a lingering hug and a stolen kiss (damn the rules) until she noticed he was not alone.

Fortunately, Margaery was able to diffuse what might have been an awkward situation, and soon charmed her way into Dany’s good graces by praising her decision to go public with her personal story and how much Dany was an inspiration to women everywhere. Both women seemed to like each other, and though Jon wouldn’t consider them the best of buddies, it was weird to think that Dany still kept in contact with Margaery every once in a while.

As for his other ties to the business, he still had run-ins with Theon and was open to sharing a beer with the Greyjoy if he was free. Renly Baratheon had stepped into the #2 spot at the Watch, and last Jon heard, he was all too happy to be in that position. Loras Tyrell was rarely seen these days, though the rumors claimed he had found a new beau – an older man from the Stormlands - who took ‘good care of him’. Jon couldn’t say he had been close to any of those men (sans Theon), so saying his farewells was not something he chose to waste much time on. They were nothing more fleeting shadows from his past.

However, if he was to gloat about his successes, there was really one other person who had the bragging rights when it came to ticking off a massive to-do list of accomplishments. His girl. His Queen.

For starters, Dany was focused on getting completely healthy, and that included paying more frequent visits to her physical and speech therapy sessions. With Jon at her side for most of those appointments, it was awe-inspiring watching her progress. It wasn’t always easy, and there were days when she would lapse into silence or lock herself away in her art room; times when Jon and Missandei knew she needed her space to think and gather herself. He was glad to see that those moments were now sporadic and had barely happened in the last couple of months.

A positive sign indeed.

Visits to Maester Dustin (who had replaced Cressen as his therapist) still occurred, and though Jon couldn’t say he was ‘cured’, he did find he was having less episodes. In the earlier months, just the mention of Cersei Lannister was prone to have him looking over his shoulder – for there really was no escaping the woman anyway since she was a celebrity of sorts. Nowadays, she was almost an abstract; just a monthly paycheck and nothing more, and something he was quite grateful for.

“Home sweet home,” Jon announced as he was buzzed into the estate and immediately bombarded with a now familiar sight of Dany’s decision to turn the house into a blinding winter light extravaganza. It was barely seven in the evening, and they were already on full blast, every tree flickering with tiny multi-colored light bulbs and every window showcasing an electric candle in honor of the holiday season. The gods knew he had tried talking her out of it, but once Dany got a creative idea in her head, there was simply no stopping her.

The front door was already opening as he let Ghost out of the car, and the usual routine of all four dogs ‘attacking’ each other in greeting never failed to make Jon chuckle. After the boisterous greeting, Ghost was all too happy to receive head rubs and kisses from his favorite female human now stooping to give them in loads.

“You’re late,” she protested with a pout as she rose to her feet once the dogs trailed after Sarah and into the house for their treats. All five feet and some inches of her, looking flushed and beautiful in her sweater, jacket, jeans, boots and a winter hat that revealed twin thick braids cascading down her chest.

Smirking, he leaned against the car and held out his arms, where he received an exaggerated roll of her eyes before she bound down the flight of steps and leapt into his waiting embrace.

Yes… _bounding_. No longer tentative steps or seeking a wheelchair or having to search for a steady item to hang onto. Sure, there were some days when the weariness would kick in but otherwise…

“Mmm, you smell so good, Jon Snow…and taste even better,” she muttered against his lips after a thorough ravishing of them.

“I could say the same to you, Miss Stormborn,” he growled huskily as he squeezed the delectable derriere before reluctantly lowering her to the ground. He would pause, however, when he noticed what was really ‘odd’ about her winter hat. “Are those…kitty ears?”

She grinned in delight at his observation and flicked them playfully. “You like them? This is one of the hats I knitted! Took me hoooours to get it right, and I made one for you too.”

Jon was already shaking his head as she began digging through her oversized hand bag. “No, no way are you putting that thing on my head…Dany…!”

“Stand still, Jon. See? It looks adorable! Oh my! Even looks better than I imagined.”

Jon stared at his reflection on the truck’s window in disbelief. Dany had attempted to make his hat look ‘wolfish’, and the end result made him appear to have two large tufts of fur sticking out of his head. Still, looking at the eager face behind him, he didn’t have the heart to tell her it was completely ridiculous. She had spent hours making it after all….and they were in Wolverine colors so…

“…it’s…nice…thanks,” he finally said with as much enthusiasm as he could muster.

“I’ll make a better one next time-”

“Please don’t,” he begged fruitlessly. “But as much as I’d love nothing more than to keep arguing over winter hats, babe, we do have to get going.”

“Right,” she agreed with a grin, and stole another hard kiss on his lips. “What time is their flight coming in again?”

He helped her into the passenger’s side. “Nine-thirty. If we beat the traffic on the Sisters we should get there on time.”

He slid into position beside her and rubbed his gloved hands. “Whooo…let’s do this then.”

“Look at you,” she teased. “I don’t think I’ve seen you this excited before, Jon.”

Jon had the grace to blush in embarrassment. “Geez, it’s only been almost a year since I’ve seen my baby sister, so sue me for being giddy.”

Giddy was putting it mildly. All it had taken was an email, sent to him about a month ago, to finally release the floodgates of doubts, fears, and concerns he’d harbored within him all this time. Arya was still alive and well. Still with Gendry, and both were coming home…at least for the holiday season.

Life was good.

Dany giggled and leaned over to kiss his cheek before her peripheral gaze caught sight of the small black bag, with its famous gold emblem, peeking from beneath the back seat. Her breath caught and her heart leapt in helpless expectancy.

_Oh, dear gods. Could it be? No, no, no…keep cool, Daenerys Targaryen. Don’t think too far ahead. Act. Cool._

She bit her lower lip and did her best to squash down possible erroneous feelings of excitement. Jon hadn’t exactly given any hint of doing… _that_ and though it was something she had fantasized about a million times over-

“What?” he asked as he began to pull out of the driveway and noticed her red-faced visage. “What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing,” she replied with a vigorous shake of her head. “It’s nothing. Just…I can’t wait to see Arya again. Can’t believe how different she looked in that picture she sent us!”

Jon, not too convinced at the act, smiled. “Yeah, she’s going to be surprised to see you walking and speaking so well and…all right. Spill it, young lady. What’s the matter? Why are you looking like you’ve just stolen another peach rose and got caught doing so?”

“I am not!”

“Yes, you are…what are you looking…at?” He finally took a quick glance over his shoulder to notice what had her attention. He blanched and then suffused with color, wishing he had the foresight to hide it better. _Seven hells!_ So much for careful planning and presentation.

“It’s probably just a gift for Arya,” Dany began with a shrug and a light laugh. “That’s okay. I completely understand-”

“It’s for you…us,” Jon blurted out in embarrassment. He coughed and squirmed in his seat before muttering beneath his breath. “You said after one year…if we’re absolutely sure, remember?”

As if she could forget.

Dany, who was now finding it a little difficult to breathe, could only manage a nod. Suddenly the street lamps lining the boulevard seemed more interesting than looking at a face that was likely to have her bursting into tears of insane happiness. She had never bitten her lower lip so hard in her life-

“And it’s only 11 months, 4 days…but…”

Jon took a deep breath and stole a quick glance at the profile he hoped to keep viewing for the rest of his life. If she’d let him.

“I know it now,” he said quietly. “I’m absolutely sure, Daenerys Stormborn.”

She made a low sound between a whimper and a sob, slid lower down her seat and slapped her hands over her face.

“Dany?” he called out in mild panic. “Are you okay? I’ll pull over and-”

Still holding a hand over her face, she waved the other for him to keep driving, before returning it to continue ‘hiding’ from view.

“Dany? Look if you don’t want to-”

“Oh, dear gods, just stop,” came the muffled reply tinged with laughter and tears. “I can’t handle all of this at once, Jon Snow.”

“…uum…I’m sorry?”

“I hate you so much,” she whined and sobbed at the same time. “Now, I’m going to look like a mess when I get to the airport.”

“All right, I take it back.”

“What?!” The hands flew off her face, her shimmering violet orbs wet yet wide as saucers. “What are you talking about?”

“I take back the proposal.”

“W-why?!”

Jon grinned. “Because I’ll do it properly…later. Get on my knees and all that. Isn’t that what you want? I know because I read your journal entry the other…hey! I was just kidding!”

She had swatted him with her bright pink kitty hat and returned to hiding her face behind her hands until they were pulled away (thankfully they had come to a stop light) and his lips peppered baby kisses across her flushed and delighted visage.

He would eventually stop, but just long enough to whisper into her ear. “I love you, future Mrs. Snow. Now, always, until the end of my days.”

“But I haven’t even said yes,” she protested weakly as he brushed his lips ever so gently against her trembling ones. Her heart was a snare drum in her chest, her feet barely touching the floor mat. They were floating…no, she – her entire being – was in flight. “I haven’t even said…”

“But you won’t say ‘no’ either, will you?”

“I…”

“Dany?” he drawled with an arched brow and knowing look she was powerless to resist.

“Yes…I mean no, I won’t say ‘no’ to you and…I mean…”

“Works for me,” Jon cut in as a horn honked behind him impatiently, and he was forced to seal her sputtered answer with a hard kiss. “We’ll finish this later, all right?”

She nodded again. Unable to speak. To find the right words… _what_ words were there in the Common Tongue powerful enough to describe all she felt at this moment? Words would be useless – they had always been in her opinion. Perhaps if she still had her chalkboard with her, she would happily write out the three words that were now a mantra within her:

I LOVE YOU, JON SNOW

_always until the end of my days_

So, for now, as she curled up to her side to face him, to watch him, to study him and to listen to him, all she could see was all she had ever wanted and would now possess for the rest of their lives -

… a most brilliant and breathtaking light from his heart to hers.

 

wonderful art by [ZlataM](http://zlatam.com/)


End file.
